


A Better Version of Our Past

by crackdkettle



Series: The Better Version 'Verse [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: the First Avenger, Captain America Big Bang 2018, F/M, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Multi, Pining, everyone has a lot of kids because it's the '50s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-23 07:32:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 29,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16154474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crackdkettle/pseuds/crackdkettle
Summary: The Commandos find Bucky in a Hydra facility just days after Steve crashes. A few months later, Peggy comes to Bucky for help: she’s pregnant with Steve’s child and she wants him to claim the child as his so the SSR won’t experiment on it to try to crack Erskine’s formula. Over the next several years Bucky slowly learns how to navigate the life that was meant for Steve — as a husband, father, and founding member of SHIELD — while never giving up the search for the man he lost and still loves.





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, I can’t believe I’m finally posting this! It’s been in the works for almost a year. This is my contribution to the Captain America Big Bang 2018. Banner and art by the incredible and incredibly talented [koreanrage](http://koreanrage.tumblr.com/). Masterpost can be found [here](http://crackdkettle.tumblr.com/post/178919837150/). Art masterpost is [here](http://koreanrage.tumblr.com/post/178927729685). Go give koreanrage all the love and reblogs because she deserves it!
> 
> This is sort of an AU spiritual follow-up to _[A Slow Death](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1755603)_ , mostly in the sense that pretty much all my canon and canon-divergent Steve/Bucky fics are spiritual follow-ups to _A Slow Death_ (that fic is basically my thesis for Bucky’s perspective on their relationship; _[It’s Not Just Where You Lay Your Head](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5145857)_ is my thesis for Steve’s), but also the Bucky at the end of _A Slow Death_ is the Bucky at the beginning of this (but you don’t have to read it first). He is… not in a great place, to say the least.
> 
> This is canon-divergent from the end of _Captain America: The First Avenger_ , so while canon side-characters show up, the rest of the MCU timeline never happened, including _Agent Carter_ (which you should definitely watch if you haven’t!). (Was Tony born in this timeline? I don’t know, I didn’t even make it to the sixties, but I like to think this timeline’s Howard would be a better father.) Also I totally ignore the thing where Bucky allegedly had siblings because, frankly, I just don’t buy it. I prefer the backstory that Steve and Bucky met as kids in an orphanage, I feel like that makes way more sense for their dynamic, but since _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_ threw that out, I just went ahead and erased his siblings and killed his parents off-screen before/during the war. That makes sense to me given Steve, who according to _Winter Soldier_ was very much part of the Barnes family, doesn’t consider what he’s going to have to tell the Barneses after Bucky falls in _First Avenger_. As eaten up with guilt as Steve is, that would be at the forefront of his mind (I firmly believe the Bucky in _First Avenger_ was written without immediate family (Phillips would be sending the MPD letter to an aunt or something), and that got retconned in _Winter Soldier_ ). Oh, also, Bucky was drafted. I honestly feel like whoever wrote that thing for the Smithsonian in _Winter Soldier_ just didn’t know what they were talking about.
> 
> This also partially stems from [a thing I wrote several years ago](http://crackdkettle.tumblr.com/post/84685391205) about an AU where Bucky never falls and lives to see Steve go into the ice and basically never moves on, and honestly I still believe Bucky wouldn’t move on if Steve died, so the idea behind this was basically, _What if he_ has _to move on?_
> 
> And now, if you made it through all that, congratulations, and on with the actual fic!

They find him just three days later when they’re cleaning out a Hydra facility.

A week after he fell, and three days too late.

“Steve?” is the first thing he says (it could never have been anything else). Dugan’s face falls, and Morita’s eyes drop to the floor, and Jones and Dernier glance uncomfortably at each other, and finally Falsworth slowly shakes his head.

It takes all five of them to restrain him, even with his mangled left arm, until a medic arrives and sedates him. (“It’s too late,” Dugan keeps saying — sobbing — into his shoulder over his screams, one big arm around his chest. “There’s nothing you can do, it’s too late.”)

When he wakes at the basecamp twenty-four hours later, his arm is gone but he’s calmer. He follows all the medical staff’s instructions, allows Carter to debrief him, and thanks everyone who had a hand in his rescue. Howard Stark sends a telegram informing him that Stark Industries has made some exciting breakthroughs in prosthetics, but for now he just ties his left sleeve off below the stump. When the Commandos come to visit he’s subdued and stable. He lets them lead the conversation, only interjecting the occasional question or comment to direct it to the information he wants. After two days, he requests and is granted an immediate transfer to the SSR London headquarters, where he can continue his recovery more privately.

The seventh night after they find him, Bucky Barnes walks into Arnim Zola’s conveniently unattended cell. He only needs one arm to put a bullet between his eyes.

\-----

There’s no trial. The cover-up is swift and unquestioned. Zola is cremated immediately and his official cause of death reported as heart failure. Bucky, meanwhile, is sent to join Howard Stark’s search for the downed Hydra aircraft.

Howard is waiting when he steps out of the helicopter at the docks.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I should have been there when Rogers—”

Bucky punches him.

“Okay,” says Howard, scrambling to his feet and rubbing his jaw. “I deserved that.”

They don’t talk much in the following weeks as they clear gridpoint after gridpoint. After two months, the SSR recalls their ship.

They never find a damn thing that matters.

\-----

His first visitor when he gets back to New York is Peggy Carter.

“How are you holding up?” she asks, after Bucky reluctantly invites her into the barely habitable flophouse room where he’s staying until he can find a permanent place. There’s nowhere to sit so they both stand awkwardly next to the bed, a little too close in the tiny space. “I imagine coming back has been difficult for you.”

Mercifully, the apartment he shared with Steve got rented out after Steve left with the USO a few years ago, although Flanagan, the superintendent, was nice enough to store their things. Bucky went to sort through them his first day back. He picked up one of Steve’s sketchbooks, flipped through a few pages of diner patrons and Brooklyn landmarks, and then came across his own Army uniform-clad image, something Steve must have drawn a few days before he shipped out, all soft lines. He hasn’t been back to Flanagan’s since.

“Was there something you wanted, Agent Carter?” he says. “I understood the official report had been filed.”

“I’m not here on SSR business,” says Carter, evidently deciding to copy his directness. “I have a proposal for you. Well, a confession first, and then a proposal.”

“I’m no priest,” says Bucky.

“I’m well aware,” she says. “But I believe you’re the only person I can trust with this information. You see, the night before he— the night before the attack on Schmidt’s base, Steve and I were… intimate.”

This is so far from what Bucky wants to talk about. He doesn’t want her here in the first place, doesn’t want to deal with her and everything she represents at all, and he certainly doesn’t want to hear about this. He tamps down on a wave of rage and with a great effort keeps his voice as neutral as possible.

“Like I said, I’m no priest.”

“I don’t require absolution when I’ve committed no sin,” says Carter acerbically, and she instantly rises in Bucky’s already begrudgingly high estimation even if he still can’t bring himself to actually like her.

“So why tell me?”

“I’m pregnant,” she says bluntly. “There’s been no one else.”

Bucky just stares at her. He doesn’t want to know any of this.

“Okay,” he says finally.

“I’d like you to marry me and claim the child as your own,” she says, direct and unapologetic.

Bucky snorts.

“You asking me to save your reputation, Carter?” he says unkindly.

“I don’t give a damn about my reputation,” she says. “I never have. If it were just about that, I wouldn’t have come to you.”

“Then what is it about?”

“The SSR thinks the key to unlocking Erskine’s formula for the supersoldier serum resides in Steve’s genetic code,” says Carter. “Genetic code they believe was lost in a plane crash in the Arctic two months ago.”

“Genetic code that’s part of your baby,” Bucky concludes.

“I’m asking you to protect my child from being turned into a lab rat,” says Carter. “To protect Steve’s child.”

Bucky wishes she hadn’t added that last bit. He doesn’t want to know this, doesn’t want to talk about it, doesn’t want any part of it.

He wants to bury this. He was going to bury this.

“Why don’t you ask Stark?” he questions, stalling for time. “He’s wealthy and a lot more powerful.” _And would definitely be more willing,_ he doesn’t add.

“And give Howard exclusive access to Steve’s genes?” says Carter. “He of all people can’t know the truth.”

“You think he won’t figure it out? The timeline won’t match,” Bucky points out. “Two months have passed and we’ve barely seen each other.”

“I’ll tell Howard we _comforted_ each other shortly after you were rescued,” says Carter. “It was all within a week so it’ll match near enough.”

“You really think he’ll buy that?” says Bucky skeptically. “It’s not like we’ve ever been close.”

Carter shrugs.

“Grief makes for strange bedfellows,” she says dispassionately. “He’ll spread it to the rest of the SSR. No one should question it.”

“You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?” he says, getting angry again because she’s clearly been mulling this over for awhile and he hasn’t even fully processed it.

“I have, as it happens,” says Carter. “I don’t expect you to make a decision right away. But I will need your answer by next week. If you decline, I’d like to disappear while I can still conceal the pregnancy.”

“Disappear?” Bucky echoes, with a sudden flare of panic.

“Yes, disappear,” says Carter. “I don’t want the SSR — or Hydra, for that matter — chasing after us. But that’s not my first choice. My first choice is you.”

_No,_ Bucky wants to say, _your first choice was Steve. Just like his first choice was you._

Bucky was never supposed to be part of this. He’s not sure he wants to be anymore.

But he knows he doesn’t want the last bit of Steve to disappear.

“I think that’s what Steve would have wanted,” Carter adds quietly.

“Steve would have wanted to raise his child himself,” Bucky snaps.

“I believe that’s true,” says Carter. She reaches for the door knob but aborts the movement halfway and turns back to him.

“Sergeant Barnes,” she says, “I’m not sure this will make a difference, but for what it’s worth, I loved your friend very much.”

Bucky doesn’t meet her eyes.

He wants to say, _You didn’t know him enough to love him._

He wants to say, _But I loved him **first** , and that should mean something, even if it never did to Steve._

He wants to say, _It’s not worth much and it doesn’t make a difference at all._

He doesn’t goddamn want any of this.

“I’ve never doubted it,” he tells her. He wishes it didn’t matter.

He wishes it were a lie.

\-----

He meets her a few days later at a crowded Manhattan diner where the waitress glances at his empty left sleeve and thanks him for his service. He thinks he maybe smiles in acknowledgement.

“Before I agree to anything,” he says after the waitress departs, “I have some concerns I’d like addressed.”

“All right,” says Carter.

“What if it looks like him?” says Bucky. “You two weren’t a secret. We won’t be able to pretend the kid’s the spitting image of someone’s great-uncle. Somebody will notice.”

“Yes, I’ve thought of that,” Carter admits. “But it might not be a problem, and a marriage will buy us a few years to plan for that particular contingency. And at least we’ll slow down anyone looking at the paper trail.”

The logic is solid enough. Bucky moves on.

“If I agree to this, I have a few conditions.”

“Such as?”

“We don’t live in Brooklyn,” says Bucky. That one’s a deal breaker. Brooklyn is now nothing but constant reminders of his life with Steve.

“Seems doable,” says Carter.

“We have equal say in how the kid’s raised,” says Bucky. “You want me to say it’s mine, then it’s half mine.”

“That’s fair,” says Carter. “Though on the subject of fairness, I don’t intend to stop my work with the SSR. If you expect me to sit quietly at home while—”

“That is the last thing I’d expect from you,” says Bucky honestly. It’s actually a relief. The SSR can occupy her in a way their sham of a marriage certainly won’t.

“Good,” says Carter, with just the hint of a smile. “Anything else?”

Bucky drops his gaze to the table.

“The terms of the marriage,” he says. “I don’t want— it won’t be a true marriage, of course. But we’ll be faithful. We won’t be free to do what we want. It’s too dangerous.”

He forces himself to look up at her. He’s clearly surprised her, but not, he thinks, negatively.

“You’re placing this restriction on yourself as well?” she clarifies.

“Of course,” says Bucky. It’s an easy promise to make. The only person he’d want to stray for is—

“Agreed,” she says.

\-----

They marry at the Brooklyn courthouse the following Monday, with Howard Stark as their witness. Bucky repeats the vows mechanically; Peggy (which he guesses he has to start calling her now that she’s his wife) recites hers with only marginally more alacrity. They exchange rings (plain gold bands that horrify Howard with their simplicity) without once meeting each other’s eyes. When the officiant gives them permission to kiss, they only allow their lips to touch for the briefest possible microsecond.

“Well that was the most depressing thing I’ve ever been part of,” says Howard as they descend the courthouse steps. “And I spent most of the last three years on the frontlines of—”

“Shut up, Howard!” Peggy snaps. “Thank you for accompanying us; the commentary is unnecessary.”

“Got it,” says Howard. He turns to Bucky. “I’ll see you tomorrow for the prosthetic fitting. It’s rudimentary right now, but give me a few years and it’ll be so advanced you won’t even miss your old arm.”

Bucky seriously doubts that, but doesn’t trust himself to say so without exploding. He’s been simmering with barely-suppressed rage all morning. This should have been Steve’s day.

“In the meantime,” Howard continues, “Jarvis will take care of anything you need. In fact, he should be wrapping up the move as we speak. And Ana’s already designing the nursery. I think it’s beach-themed.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Bucky says for the hundredth time. Howard has insisted on moving Peggy and Bucky into his Manhattan mansion until they get settled in their post-war domestic lives. Bucky’s agreed to it mostly because it allows him to think as little about his new family circumstances as possible (and also because he feels Howard owes him for what he did to Steve).

Howard shrugs.

“It’s nothing, seriously,” he says. “I’ve been summoned to the desert for the foreseeable future, so it’s not like I’ll be using it.” He looks at his watch. “Speaking of, I’m late for a call with a very irritable physicist. Mazel tov, kids.”

\-----

They don’t see each other much in the following months. Bucky gets fitted with a mechanical prosthetic arm and returns to Europe to sweep up the remains of Hydra with the Commandos, while Peggy gets stuck with desk duty in New York (of course, the SSR had wanted to send her on leave permanently once the pregnancy started showing, but Howard and Bucky had thrown their not inconsiderable weight around to land her the office job: Howard because he actually loves Peggy; Bucky to mitigate the guilt of abandoning her).

“You did the right thing,” Dugan tells him his first night back.

Bucky’s mechanical arm starts whirring.

“Did I?” Nothing about his marriage to Peggy feels like _the right thing_.

“I’m sure Rogers—”

“Don’t.”

“We all miss him,” says Dugan softly.

“Fuck off,” Bucky snarls and goes to relieve Falsworth from his watch early.

The Commandos quickly learn not to bring up Steve, Peggy, or the baby.

By mid-October they’ve stopped getting sent to apprehend Hydra operatives because Bucky always kills them on sight instead of capturing them for interrogation.

“Anyone ever tell you you’d make an excellent assassin, Barnes?” Colonel Phillips says the sixth time their mission ends with one of Bucky’s bullets in the target’s skull.

“Thank you, sir,” he says flatly.

“It’s not a compliment,” Phillips snaps. “The SSR doesn’t employ you as an assassin. The objective of your missions is to capture Hydra operatives, not to kill them.”

“I don’t agree with that objective. It’s arrogant and dangerous,” says Bucky. _Especially in light of Operation Paperclip,_ he doesn’t add, since he’s technically not supposed to know about that. “Sir.”

“You are also not employed for your opinion,” says Phillips. “Good god, I thought Rogers was bad after we lost you.”

Bucky’s mechanical arm whirrs as he unconsciously clenches his hands. No one has uttered Steve’s name in his presence in months, and now it’s to dare to compare Steve’s motivations to Bucky’s, as if they are or have ever been in any way alike.

Bucky’s read the files. He’s listened to that goddamn recording. Steve’s last words were planning a date he knew full well he’d never go on, and it wasn’t even—

“Fortunately,” Phillips continues, “you are not my problem anymore. The transfer papers finally came through. You’re being reassigned to New York.”

“I didn’t ask for a transfer,” says Bucky.

“Consider it an early Christmas present,” says Phillips. “I understand your wife is having a baby soon. You can be at the hospital to pass out cigars.”

The baby’s imminent arrival is one of the many reasons Bucky isn’t anxious to return to the States in general and New York in particular, but it’s not like he can say that to Phillips.

“Best of luck to you, Sergeant Barnes,” Phillips concludes, waving his dismissal. “You will not be missed.”

\-----

“We’re thrilled to have you, Agent Barnes. Maybe you can rein in that wife of yours,” is the very first thing SSR Chief John Flynn says when Bucky steps into his office a week later.

Bucky instantly hates him.

“My wife doesn’t need reining in,” he says icily. He may not like Peggy for entirely personal (and, when he’s being honest, mostly irrational) reasons, but he’s never questioned her talents as an agent. He has no doubt that all things being equal, she would be sitting in Flynn’s chair right now.

Flynn’s smile falters.

“Hey now,” he says. “I only meant—”

“I know exactly what you meant,” says Bucky. Peggy was circumspect when he asked her about the New York office, only telling him Flynn “shouldn’t give _you_ much trouble,” but that careful emphasis told him enough. Flynn is exactly the kind of asshole who didn’t appreciate Steve Rogers until he’d been shoved in a machine and spat out as Captain America.

Flynn clears his throat.

“Agent Barnes—”

“Sergeant Barnes,” Bucky corrects.

“What?”

“Sergeant Barnes,” he repeats. “Peggy is your agent; I’m not.”

Though Peggy isn’t “Agent Barnes” either: she’s retained her maiden name (which Bucky is only too happy about).

“Actually,” says Flynn, “you’ve been granted agent status as part of your transfer. And I’m sure your wife will want to focus her energies on more domestic duties going forward.”

Bucky has no idea why Flynn would be sure of that, unless he’s confused Peggy with a completely different person, but only says, “That’s entirely up to her, of course.”

“Of course,” Flynn echoes, his smile becoming even more strained, and something in Bucky snaps.

“I’d remind you, Chief Flynn, that Peggy Carter was a skilled and valuable agent long before she met me.” His mechanical arm whirrs. “Or Captain Rogers.”

“Well I wouldn’t know anything about that,” says Flynn, his eyes flicking uncomfortably to Bucky’s left arm.

“That’s the first thing you’ve gotten right,” says Bucky. “Regardless of Agent Carter’s decision, I will be taking eight weeks’ leave, starting today.”

This is a bad idea. He knows it’s a bad idea even as he says it. How is he going to handle everything having the baby will entail if he doesn’t have work to escape to and bury himself in?

But he also knows he won’t be able to deal with the baby if he also has to deal with Flynn.

Flynn is flipping through a file on his desk, clearly flustered.

“You haven’t been approved for leave,” he says uncertainly.

“Court martial me,” Bucky snaps, already halfway out the door.

\-----

When he finally forces himself to go to Howard Stark’s mansion — his new home — several hours later, Peggy is already there and furious.

“If you wanted to make my life harder, congratulations, you’ve done it,” she says.

“I’ve never wanted that,” says Bucky honestly. In another life… well, nothing permanent would have happened between them in any life, but he’s always understood why Steve loved her. It’s one of the reasons liking her is so difficult.

“Then you might have treated my boss with a bit more respect,” says Peggy.

“Flynn is an arrogant asshole,” says Bucky. “I don’t know how you put up with him.”

“I have been putting up with arrogant assholes like Flynn my entire life,” says Peggy. “It’s not as though I’ve had other options. I’m more than capable of handling whatever he and idiots like him throw at me. I certainly don’t need you to sweep in to defend me.”

“I know you don’t,” says Bucky. “But he was making these snide remarks and I— it’s a bad habit, I’m sorry. I’ve been told it’s… cloying.” His arm whirrs, just for a second.

“That’s one word for it,” says Peggy, but she seems somewhat mollified. “At any rate, I’ve been suspended for my health through at least the end of the year.”

“He can’t do that!” says Bucky, outraged, his arm starting to whirr in earnest. “I’ll go tell him right now—”

“You’ll do no such thing,” says Peggy. “I just told you I don’t need you to defend me.”

“But—”

“Not to mention Flynn won’t be at the office,” Peggy adds. “It’s late, and tomorrow is Saturday.” She sighs. “The baby is nearly due anyway, and Howard claims he has something in the works that will actually allow me to prove myself.”

“You’ve already proved yourself,” says Bucky, a little surprised by his own sincerity.

Peggy looks surprised too, but also pleased.

“If only the rest of the SSR shared your opinion,” she says. “But never mind. We have a more pressing matter to discuss.”

“We do?” says Bucky warily.

“Names,” says Peggy, smiling, and Bucky finds himself smiling back a little in relief.

“Well, Sarah for a girl,” he says. “For Steve’s mom. It’s what he would have wanted. For a boy…” He trails off. He purposefully hasn’t let himself think about this.

“We could call him Steve,” Peggy offers, the obvious option Bucky hasn’t wanted to contemplate.

Now he forces himself to imagine it: seeing after-images of the man he loved and lost every time he calls the kid’s name.

“No,” he says. “I— we can’t do that. Too much to live up to.”

“All right,” says Peggy; he might be imagining it, but he thinks she looks a little relieved too. “We could name him after his father, then.”

Bucky frowns.

“We just—”

“James,” says Peggy softly.

Bucky gapes at her.

“We could say it’s for Falsworth and Morita, too, if you’d like,” she adds.

For a moment he lets himself wonder if Steve maybe would have named his son after Bucky, if he’d been around to do it.

He shakes his head.

“No,” he says. “We should name him something new. Give him his own identity. It’s what Steve would have wanted.”

They both say that a lot, he thinks, for two people who have absolutely no idea what Steve would have wanted. It’s not like either of them ever discussed child-rearing with him.

“All right,” says Peggy. “We’ll call him something new.”

\-----

Nathaniel Roger Carter-Barnes is born in the early hours of November 3, 1945.

“He has your eyes,” the nurse tells Bucky when she places the baby in his arms, and Bucky’s heart clenches. He forces himself to look down into what are unquestionably Steve’s eyes, a piercing blue he thought he’d never see again, and for a moment it feels like coming home.

Then the eyes slide shut and the baby nestles into his chest. His arm whirrs.

“There you go,” the nurse coos, “he knows his daddy,” and Bucky has to force a smile because of course he doesn’t. He never will.

His true father is gone.

To his parents’ immense relief, Nate, as they end up calling him, grows to resemble his mother. He has the same dark, curly hair, the same round cheeks, the same infectious smile. The only thing he doesn’t have is her eyes.

“He’s got your eyes, pal,” Howard tells Bucky at the christening. “No doubt.”

Bucky’s arm whirrs as he nods in agreement, but he’s more relieved than anything. If they can fool Howard, they might just pull this off.

Peggy returns to the SSR at the beginning of the year, but Bucky officially resigns, and Howard sets him up at Stark Industries to plan another search for the _Valkyrie_.

“Privately funded, so I won’t have some bureaucratic jackass whining about draining resources,” Howard explains with great satisfaction. “And speaking of bureaucratic jackasses, I have to go schmooze a few in DC. Pain in the ass, but when it works out, we’ll all be better off. Pegs will be thrilled.”

“Good,” says Bucky. “Someone should make her happy.”

Howard frowns a little but only says, “Jarvis says Ana’s enjoying herself.”

With Peggy back at the SSR and Bucky at SI, Nate’s daytime care has fallen to Ana Jarvis, the wife of Howard’s butler. The Jarvises live in a cottage off the main house, and while Bucky doesn’t interact with them much, they seem to give Peggy the support he’s incapable of providing, so he’s happy to have them around.

“Oh yeah? Great,” he says. “How do I get her to let me pay her?”

“You don’t,” says Howard. “I’m paying her.”

“ _You’re_ paying for my son’s nanny?”

Howard shrugs.

“Why not? I’m his godfather.”

“Full disclosure, that was all Peggy’s doing,” says Bucky. He gets along with Howard well enough, and has no compunction about accepting his generosity, but he still doesn’t particularly like him. Not that Howard seems to notice or care.

“Yeah, well I’m not being totally selfless,” says Howard. “I’m gonna need Peggy free once everything in DC gets worked out. And I owe you two for… well, you know.”

Bucky doesn’t think Howard actually _does_ know why he owes them, or at least not why he owes Bucky.

Howard returns from DC in time to head out with the search party in late March. They don’t find anything on the six-week expedition, and while Bucky would be more than willing to stay out on the ship until they do find something, even if it takes years, as Howard unhappily points out, neither of them is actually free to do that.

“I know you and Peggy aren’t exactly gaga over each other, but I’m pretty sure you should see your wife and kid at some point,” he says. “Jarvis is very concerned about that. And I’ve got a company to run. Jarvis is very concerned about that, too. Not to mention the AG wants a meeting.”

“I thought the whole point of this was to keep the bureaucrats off our asses,” says Bucky.

“There’s always a bureaucrat on my ass for something,” says Howard. “Can’t get SHIELD off the ground from an iceberg. I asked. Here, what do you think?” He passes Bucky a scrap of paper covered in barely-legible scribbles.

Bucky mostly thinks the name SHIELD reminds him too much of Captain America, but since that is, of course, the point, he just tries to decipher Howard’s chicken scratch.

“ _‘Supreme Headquarters’_?” he snorts. “Really?”

“Yeah, I have a feeling Clark’s not gonna go for that one,” says Howard. “Sounds intimidating, though.”

“It sounds ridiculous,” says Bucky. He squints at the paper. “ _‘Supreme Headquarters, International Espionage, Law-Enforcement Division’_? _‘Strategic Hazard Intervention Espionage Logistics Directorate’_? _‘Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division’_? Stark, these are all gibberish.”

Howard rolls his eyes.

“And ‘Federal Bureau of Investigation’ is so coherent?”

“Yes?” says Bucky. “Aren’t you supposed to come up with the name _before_ the acronym?”

“You have no imagination,” says Howard dismissively. “Forget it, I’ll ask Peggy when we get home.”

“Speaking of home,” says Bucky. “Will we have to move to DC when this all goes through?”

“Yeah, about that,” says Howard. “DC is Clark’s choice, but not mine: all the politics is a real buzzkill. Like the SSR, it won’t be an exclusively American agency, and since the SSR works out of New York, there’s precedent. We could just stay. But…” He trails off, looking awkward.

“But?” Bucky prompts.

“I’m diversifying Stark Industries,” says Howard. “Branching into motion pictures. Whole industry’s a goldmine if you’ve got the right tools.”

“Now?” says Bucky skeptically. “While you’re trying to start a government agency?”

Howard waves this concern away.

“I wouldn’t have made it this far if I didn’t know how to delegate,” he says. “There’s a perfect place for a training camp just outside LA, and we can take our pick for headquarters downtown. We’ll have to run it by Peggy first, of course, but—”

“I’m on board,” says Bucky immediately. Living in Manhattan stops staying in New York from being completely unbearable, but it’s still hell. It’s not like he and Steve never left Brooklyn, after all.

They never made it out to California, though.

“Oh. Great!” says Howard. “I really thought that was gonna be a tougher sell.”

Bucky shrugs.

“Six weeks in the Arctic is all the sales pitch you need,” he says. “Year-round summer sounds appealing right about now.”

\-----

They move to California in September. Bucky feels nothing but relief when he watches New York fall away from Howard’s private jet, even with the baby howling in his lap. If he’s lucky, he’ll never have to see that city (Steve’s city) again.

Howard insists they take the main house on his sixty-acre compound, which includes a detached bachelor pad/workshop for Howard, a slightly smaller 3000-square-foot “cottage” for the Jarvises, two swimming pools, a tennis court, and a nine-hole golf course.

“We can get our own house,” Bucky tells Howard with slightly more conviction than when he’d tried to decline the New York mansion. Howard never stayed in New York for more than a few weeks at a time. In LA it seems he’ll be a more permanent neighbor.

“Consider it a perk of being married to the SHIELD director,” says Howard. “Besides, you want poor Ana to have to commute?”

Bucky’s forced to concede that point, at least. He has to drive to Pasadena a few times a week and it’s not something he would wish on anyone, especially Ana Jarvis. And while he and Peggy are getting along better than they ever have, he can’t imagine their marriage will be improved by isolation, so after a few weeks he drops the subject.

Commuting aside, Bucky likes California, likes how different it is from New York, how few things there are to remind him of Steve. He only has one really bad moment, their very first week there. He’s unpacking the last of the boxes in the main house with Ana, while Howard, Peggy, and Jarvis are out checking over the new headquarters, and Nate is down for his afternoon nap.

“I don’t recognize these,” says Ana from somewhere to his right.

Bucky turns — and feels his arm start up.

“That’s not meant to be opened,” he somehow chokes out.

Ana is standing in front of a box Bucky belatedly recognizes as containing all he has left of Steve’s belongings, an open sketchbook in her hand.

“These are beautiful.”

“Yes,” Bucky agrees, whisper-quiet, even though he can’t actually see which sketches she’s looking at. He comes up beside her, his feet moving of their own volition. He doesn’t want to see this.

“The artist loved you very much.”

“What makes you say that?” asks Bucky sharply.

Ana holds up the sketch she’s admiring: Bucky’s face in three-quarter view, half-smiling and tousled and impossibly _young_ , even though it can’t be more than five years since it was drawn.

“It’s a very good likeness,” she says, turning it back toward herself and gazing down at it. “The detail is extraordinary. But it’s imperfect — or maybe too perfect. It softens the imperfections.” She smiles, tracing but not quite touching the portrait’s cheek with a fingertip.

“I was younger then,” Bucky offers, but Ana just shakes her head.

“I know what someone looks like through the lens of love.”

Bucky gently takes the book out of her hands, closes it, and sets it back in the box without looking at the other contents. One day this box will belong to Nate. Until then…

“You must miss them.” Ana’s whisper is almost lost in the buzz from Bucky’s arm.

“Every goddamn second,” Bucky admits softly, allowing himself this one moment of weakness. His arm whirrs to a halt, casting them into silence.

Nate’s high-pitched cry cuts across the stillness. Ana rushes to fetch him, and Bucky seals up the box and places it in the pile bound for the attic. They don’t talk about the sketches again.

\-----

The next several months are dedicated to building SHIELD.

Peggy, of course, is brilliant as the director, overseeing staffing, signing off on (and occasionally leading) missions, and refining the agency’s purpose.

Howard heads the weapons and technology side of things, recruiting top scientists from around the world to fill his cutting-edge labs and workshops.

Bucky is put in charge of the training camp.

“Those who can’t do, teach, is that it?” he says when he’s told his new position.

“Those who can’t follow orders, give them, if that’s how you want to look at it,” says Peggy. “You’ll be out of the field until I’m sure you won’t blow an asset’s head off.”

Bucky’s arm whirrs, but only briefly. He can’t exactly argue with Peggy’s reasoning.

He throws himself into his new job, studying the training programs of the SEALs, the Rangers, the FBI, and the now-defunct SSR, and combining and intensifying the toughest aspects.

“No one will get through this,” says Peggy when he shows her his sixteen-week training plan.

“Then they shouldn’t be in the field,” says Bucky. “You could. The Commandos could.” _Steve could._ His arm whirrs.

“You can’t train for every contingency, Bucky,” says Peggy gently. “You know that better than most.”

“You can try,” Bucky mutters. “You want the best, right? This program will give you the best.”

“This program will give me no one,” says Peggy, but she doesn’t make him modify it.

The training base is called Camp Rogers — a name Bucky, with Peggy’s support, vehemently fought against, but the bastards in the War Department pushed through anyway. Maybe it’s appropriate, though, he thinks when he watches his recruits joke around during mess, bright-eyed and naïve and still alive, still _whole_ : another Rogers claiming him for a purpose he doesn’t want, shredding his heart with disinterest.

His first class has just fifteen recruits, most of them Army and Navy vets from the war, but a couple poached from the FBI (SHIELD automatically absorbed all SSR agents). He tries not to get too close to them, wishes he didn’t have to learn their names. He can’t help looking at them and wondering what each of them will lose in this cause. Their limb? Their life?

Their soul?

He pushes them harder than is probably necessary, almost certainly harder than he should. He wants to scream at them all to run, that they somehow made it out of the war unscathed and they won’t be so lucky twice and it’s not worth it. Six recruits drop out in the first eight weeks.

“You’re doing the right thing,” he tells them. “It’s for the best.”

They probably take it as a parting shot, but he’s sincere each time he says it. They’re getting out before they’re damaged beyond repair, before loss after loss chips away at them until they shatter. He envies them, even if he can’t make them understand why.

Of the nine that complete the program, only five pass the final set of tests.

“A thirty-three percent success rate,” says Peggy as she double-checks the results. “It’s not ideal.”

“It’s one-hundred percent successful at weeding out unfit recruits,” says Bucky. “I’m giving you my best.”

Peggy looks up, her expression unexpectedly gentle.

“I know you are,” she says softly.

A week after the first graduation, he and Howard head out to look for the plane again. Ana and Nate come to see them off, Nate babbling more or less unintelligibly the whole way to the airport. Bucky thinks it might be a ploy to make him stay, but entirely Ana’s, not Peggy’s (even if it were Peggy’s style, she would never ask the six-months-pregnant Ana to participate). It doesn’t work, of course, but it does make it a little harder to say goodbye.

It’s become his habit, after the hardest days of training — days when someone quits, days when someone _doesn’t_ quit, days that remind him far too much of the war — to slip into the nursery and just watch Nate sleep, tiny chest rising and falling in a visible confirmation of life.

_You can hurt me,_ he always thinks as he gazes down at the peaceful, unblemished face that so resembles the woman he resents and in sleep contains no trace of the man he loves, _just like your father. You can destroy me, just like he did._

As hard as he’s fought it, he’s grown attached to the kid. Of course, Peggy would probably say it’s what Steve would have wanted. Maybe she’d be right.

The expedition finds nothing but ice. Bucky spends most of the time refining the training program and discussing ideas for SHIELD’s future with Howard, although he takes time to read and reject a couple scripts Howard is thinking of producing.

“Yeah, that was my instinct too,” says Howard when Bucky tells him they’re garbage. “You ever get tired of showing amateurs how to shoot guns and pick locks, there’s a producing job at Stark Studios waiting for you.”

Bucky’s been tired of shooting guns since the second he got his draft notice, but he just rolls his eyes and says, “SHIELD training is slightly more complicated than that.” He’s not like Howard, who can dip in and out of SHIELD whenever it suits him, no worse for wear. It’s all or nothing.

He’s married to Peggy. He’s raising Steve’s kid. It’s all.

In July, shortly after little Eddie Jarvis is born, Jim Morita joins Bucky at Camp Rogers as his second-in-command. Bucky’s happier to have him than he expected; in many ways, Morita is a living reminder of the worst time in his life.

But Morita also gets that Bucky doesn’t want to talk about Steve in a way no one else at SHIELD really does. He immediately rechristens the base “the Forge”, and smoothly redirects every overeager recruit’s questions about Captain America from Bucky to himself, steering them not just verbally but physically away so that they leave Bucky and his whirring mechanical arm in peace.

They settle into a rhythm. With Morita’s help, Bucky gets his graduate rate up to nearly seventy percent. Howard divides his time between his labs and his studio lots. Peggy starts feeling confident enough in both the SHIELD hierarchy and Bucky’s parenting abilities to run missions in the field every few months. Bucky and Howard go out to the Arctic the first six weeks of every spring, leaving the spring cycle of training in Morita’s capable hands.

Bucky and Peggy become something like friends. They don’t really have a choice. They’re a public couple, if not a private one. Howard is Peggy’s companion as often as possible whenever she has to make an appearance in DC or London, or host a government delegation in LA, but Bucky can’t avoid every state dinner or visiting general, and it’s easier to get through it when he can keep a conversation with his date flowing.

It’s also imperative they present a united front to the bureaucrats interested in undermining Peggy’s authority at every opportunity. For Bucky it’s by far the easiest and most enjoyable aspect of his role: his professional respect for Peggy is absolute, whatever his private feelings; and he relishes politely eviscerating every member of the old boys’ club who makes the mistake of thinking he can sweep Peggy aside, the same way he would have swept aside pre-serum Steve Rogers. Turns out the war didn’t kill all Bucky’s passions.

“Didn’t realize you were a child-rearing expert, sir,” he says mildly, every time one of them not-so-subtly suggests Nate might be irreparably damaged by having a mother who dedicates her days to running an intelligence agency instead of spending every waking moment with him. “Maybe we should hire you to watch our son.”

Most of them back off then, but if they push it he’ll add, “Can’t make more of a mess of that than you did of Operation Diadem,” or whichever wartime campaign they bungled.

That usually ends the discussion, but very occasionally, much as he loathes it, he’s forced to play the Captain America card.

“Children have been cared for by nannies for centuries,” Peggy points out when someone refuses to let it go.

“Maybe that’s how you do things in jolly old England, director, but here in America—”

“Steve Rogers’ mother was a war widow who worked every day of his life so she could put food on their table,” Bucky interjects. “While she was nursing patients at the local hospital, he spent his days with a neighbor. Surely you’re not suggesting, general, that Captain America grew into anything less than a model citizen.”

That always stops the debate dead in its tracks (the hilarious irony of Steve Rogers, _of all people,_ being referred to as a model _anything_ is, of course, tragically lost on these audiences — just like Steve himself, and Sarah Rogers, and anyone else who could actually appreciate it). When the subject changes and Peggy gives Bucky a slight smile, he returns it and forgets for a moment why he resents her.

George Jarvis arrives just eleven months after his older brother, so Bucky and Peggy try to take Nate out on weekends — to the beach, to the fair, to the Knott’s ghost town — so he won’t run over to the Jarvises’ cottage when Ana is supposed to be having somewhat of a break. At first they alternate weekends — partly because they’re both busy trying to get SHIELD up and running; mostly because it’s awkward — but as Nate gets older that becomes less tenable. He’s a nightmare of a toddler: stubborn, defiant, and curious to a dangerous fault. To Bucky it’s the first indication (besides his eyes) that he really is Steve’s child, but everyone else, thank god, declares him his mother’s son through and through. Peggy rolls her eyes and says he’s just a normal toddler.

“You’ll grow out of it, won’t you, darling?” she says, ruffling Nate’s hair.

“No!” Nate declares, setting his tiny jaw in an expression so reminiscent of Steve it sets Bucky’s arm whirring.

\-----

“Nate’s starting to ask questions.”

Bucky looks up and sees Peggy leaning against the doorframe of his bedroom, watching him pack. He shrugs and his arm starts up, just a low hum. He can’t control it completely, but he’s gotten better. The upgrades help.

“He knows about Steve.”

Not that he knows everything about Steve, of course. He knows Steve was Bucky’s best friend, and that Steve, Bucky, Peggy, Howard, and his uncle Commandos fought in The War together. He knows about Captain America, too, although Bucky’s not sure he’s made the connection between lost Uncle Steve and the mythologized war hero (and Bucky will be perfectly happy if he never does).

He doesn’t know what Steve really was to Bucky and Peggy. He doesn’t know what Steve should have been to him.

“He doesn’t know why his father disappears for a month and a half every year,” says Peggy, and before Bucky can retort that Nate’s father disappeared before anyone even knew he existed, which is the whole point of these expeditions after all, she adds, “Frankly, neither do I.”

“You never have,” says Bucky bitterly.

Bucky will never forgive Howard for his role in Steve’s transformation, but he loves him for this annual pilgrimage. Howard is the only one who has ever come close to understanding.

“I loved him too,” says Peggy quietly.

“That’s the difference between us,” Bucky snaps. “I still love him.”

Peggy shakes her head.

“It’s been five years,” she says. “You have to let go. You have a family—”

Bucky slams the suitcase shut.

“I have _his_ family, you mean,” he snarls. “You think I wanted any of this? This— this twisted version of— I’m raising his son and it’s not even with—” he cuts himself off, abruptly aware just how much he’s let slip. His arm is suddenly deafening.

“It’s not even with him,” Peggy finishes softly. She gives him a small, sad smile. “We have more in common than you think.”

He flinches a little as she moves toward him, but all she does is sit on the edge of the bed and pat the space beside her in an invitation he doesn’t really want to take but does anyway, very deliberately not letting their shoulders touch and staring at his feet so he doesn’t have to look at her.

“Do you know why you were my first choice for Nate’s father?” Peggy asks after a moment.

Bucky shakes his head, eyes fixed on the small hole near the toe of his left sock.

“Because as Steve’s son, he was already sort of your son too.”

Bucky’s head snaps up.

“Don’t you think?” Peggy adds quietly. She’s still smiling a little, like she doesn’t realize how insane she sounds, verbalizing things Bucky’s never allowed himself to speculate even in his own head.

“No.” The denial feels wrenched from him against his will, even if it’s what he’s always known, deep down. “That wasn’t— Steve didn’t think like that. He didn’t want what I wanted.” _He didn’t want me._

“You didn’t see him after the train,” says Peggy. “Everything he did… storming Schmidt’s base… the plane…

“I think about that day a lot, you know. I wonder, sometimes, if we’d found you in time… if he’d known you were alive… if you could have…”

“I could never talk him out of anything,” says Bucky. “If you couldn’t stop him, I never had a chance. He didn’t—” he breaks off... but what’s the point when Peggy’s already dragged everything else into the open? “He didn’t love me enough.”

Admitting it aloud doesn’t sting as much as he expected. His arm has quieted.

“You’re dead wrong,” Peggy whispers.

Bucky finally meets her eyes. It’s never occurred to him that Peggy might be just as uncertain about Steve’s feelings as he always has been, but now he realizes they’re bound together by more than just Nate. They were both widowed by the same man: a man who hadn’t promised them anything; a man who hadn’t loved either of them more than his own sense of duty (and really, isn’t that why he resents Peggy: because she took Steve but hadn’t been enough to keep him?); a man who left them nothing but an empty marriage and a child who will never allow them to move on.

They move toward each other at the same time. It’s their first kiss since their wedding (if that perfunctory peck even qualifies) and just as unromantic, but this time there’s no guilt or shame attached to it, and though he’s still filled with rage, none of it is directed at the woman in his arms. She is his ally, his comrade; she is the only one who truly understands what he was denied because she was denied the same, and the only one who knows the truth of their compensation, so much more than they could have hoped for and so much less than they need. In five years, he’s never fully appreciated what a gift he was given in her. In five years, he’s never really understood what shitty reciprocation he’s been.

They go slowly. Bucky keeps waiting for her to stop it — keeps waiting for _him_ to stop it — and keeps waiting. Time narrows, brightens, eclipses the past just for a moment. The suitcase topples to the floor. A ghost flickers out.

Afterward, lying next to her on the still-made but rumpled bed, he waits again but the guilt doesn’t come.

_Maybe it’s what Steve would have wanted,_ he thinks with only a trace of irony.

Peggy’s hand finds his across the quilt; their fingers tangle together.

“I don’t understand why you need this,” she murmurs, “but I understand you _do_ need it. So for six weeks a year you can be his. Just… be ours for the other forty-six. Be _here_. All right?”

_You don’t ask for much, do you?_ Bucky thinks, but he knows she’s offering him so much more than he deserves; more than he’s ever offered her.

They can never be for each other what Steve was. Maybe that’s all right though. Maybe it’s not all or nothing.

And hell, maybe it really _is_ what Steve would have wanted.

“All right,” he whispers.


	2. Part II

It’s their fifth Arctic expedition on RSV _Anthony_ (named for Howard’s maternal grandfather, but with a dark humor as well: _“Tony, Tony, look around…”_ ), and everything’s comfortably routine: Bucky’s usual quarters are arranged exactly how he likes them; the menu has been curated to his and Howard’s tastes; the crew greets him with warm familiarity.

Bucky wonders what the crew thinks of this annual Arctic sabbatical. They’re all professional and take the search seriously, but the truth is there’s not a lot to do as they slowly sweep for signs of wreckage. He suspects the spring search is simply a bleakly monotonous break from the oceanographic research the _Anthony_ is used for the rest of the year: relaxing for the first week or two, and then torturously dull the rest of the time. That’s certainly how he’s started to feel about it. (He’d never even consider stopping the voyages, of course, but he does pack a lot of books now.)

It’s been over five years since Steve crashed; seven since Bucky was drafted. Brooklyn feels like a lifetime ago — _is_ a lifetime ago, really, a few lifetimes.

The lifetime of the war. The lifetime of post-war and pre-California. The lifetime between moving to LA and whatever happened between him and Peggy before he left for this voyage. (What _did_ happen between him and Peggy?)

But no matter how many lifetimes have gone by, that bitter longing he has for Brooklyn and his life with Steve hasn’t faded; it’s simply become part of his normal state of being.

He doesn’t romanticize the past. Not to the degree of delusion, anyway. His life with Steve was far from perfect; was, in many ways, not even particularly happy.

It took a few months, but Bucky did, eventually, convince Steve to move in with him after Sarah died. Their own place, not Bucky’s parents’ — Steve’s stipulation, of course, and one with which Bucky was all too happy to comply. He found a halfway-decent apartment, signed the lease, lied through his teeth about the cost of rent, and started pulling double shifts at the docks to cover his two-thirds of the rent and groceries besides. He’d have paid the entire rent and all other expenses if he’d known how to get away with it. Steve had started at art school and needed money for tuition and supplies, not to mention free time to sketch and study. Bucky would have happily provided all of it for him.

 _You don’t have to worry about a thing,_ he wanted to tell Steve. _You just draw your pictures and I’ll take care of everything._

Except Steve hadn’t wanted Bucky to take care of everything. Steve hadn’t wanted to be loved the way Bucky had wanted to love him.

Bucky knew that from the beginning. He never seriously entertained the ridiculous fantasies that occasionally flitted through his head at his most vulnerable moments hovering between sleep and wakefulness. He knew what was and wasn’t possible; he was resigned to it.

That didn’t mean he accepted it outright. He had moments of weakness. After they moved in together, he went through dames like water, drawing their attention away from Steve as much as toward himself. But he tried to fight that instinct. He wanted Steve to be happy, ultimately, even if it was at the expense of Bucky’s own happiness. Peggy had at once been the answer to his prayers and his worst nightmare come to life. He hated that she could have everything he was denied. That he couldn’t reasonably object to her was simultaneously torture and the only thing that made her presence bearable. If Steve was going to find happiness with someone who wasn’t Bucky, it ought to be with someone who at least came close to deserving him. But god, why couldn’t he just find happiness with Bucky? (But that was selfish — Bucky couldn’t give Steve everything he wanted and deserved, couldn’t give him a family or even a marriage, would only replace one kind of ostracism with another. Steve could never _truly_ find happiness with Bucky.)

Only Steve hadn’t found happiness at all. Steve had disappeared in the Arctic, and Bucky and Peggy had both been left to pick up the pieces.

What are those pieces, though? Bucky’s not sure anymore.

 _Be here,_ Peggy said. He thought he knew what she meant then, but standing at the stern of the _Anthony_ nearly six weeks later, watching its wake ripple out in the moonlight, he’s uncertain. What exactly does she think _being here_ entails?

He wishes… he wishes Steve were here. He wishes he could just talk to him again.

Of course, if Steve were here Bucky wouldn’t be in this predicament to begin with. And even if he were, Steve probably wouldn’t be particularly helpful.

 _I’m not the guy to ask for advice about dames,_ he would say, and Bucky would laugh in non-agreement because, what, Bucky _is_? Height and health aren’t masterable skills. ( _Unless you’re Steve,_ he thinks bitterly. _Unless you’re Steve._ )

Nor are they especially useful in his current situation. Going on a date or two is easy. Maintaining a marriage is another matter entirely.

If Steve had died from pneumonia or an asthma attack or any of the other dozen or so diseases and ailments that nearly killed him throughout childhood and beyond, Bucky could go talk to his grave. But Steve had escaped a mundane death, and with it a traditional burial; the inky blackness of the ocean is likely the closest to a cemetery he’ll ever get. Maybe that’s one of the reasons accepting it is so difficult: Bucky wants to bury this, but he’s never had anything to bury.

That’s an excuse though, because, when it comes down to it, what does it matter? Steve wouldn’t be able to hear him in any case. The ocean is just as unresponsive as a grass-covered mound of dirt; he may as well treat them the same.

He looks around. The deck is empty, the closest crewman too far away to hear.

“I don’t know how to do this without you,” he tells the water. “I didn’t know how to do it with you.”

“I’m trying,” he adds, because it seems important for Steve to know this, even though he can’t know it, even though he’ll never know it. “I wasn’t before, but I’m trying now. I’m going to try.”

“I miss you,” he whispers, because that will never stop being true.

 _I love you,_ he doesn’t say, because he never has, because Steve never wanted to hear it.

\-----

“I have to go check on the London office next week,” Peggy tells him when he’s at HQ a few weeks later. “I thought you might like to come along. I’m sure Falsworth and Dugan would love to see you. And we could bring Nate and… visit my parents.”

She darts a quick glance at him before dropping her eyes back to her desk and busying herself with some papers. It’s the first indication since he got back that she feels just as awkward about their new, nebulous state as he does. For the most part things between them have been the same as before, except that they’ve both been excessively polite and considerate. They haven’t talked about it.

“I don’t think your parents like me,” says Bucky.

“You don’t think my parents like the man who impregnated their only daughter out of wedlock, and encourages that daughter’s dangerous and unladylike occupation?” says Peggy, looking up at him and smiling slightly. “I can’t imagine why.”

“So they don’t like me.”

Peggy sighs.

“They don’t know you.”

This is true enough. Bucky’s only properly met Harrison and Amanda Carter once, when they arrived in New York two days before he and Howard embarked on their first expedition after Nate was born. Unhappy with his family circumstances and distracted by the upcoming voyage, he admittedly hadn’t made the best first impression, and had spent most of the two days at his office or the docks to avoid them. Since then they’ve only visited when Bucky is away.

“That’s something I’d like to rectify, hence the invitation,” she adds. “You are the father of their grandchildren, after all.”

“Grand _child_ ,” Bucky corrects. “And I’m actually not—”

“You are in every sense that matters,” says Peggy impatiently. “You certainly are as far as they’ll ever know. And,” she adds, dropping her eyes back to the desk, “it will be grand _children_ soon enough.”

“What are you talking about?” says Bucky, totally lost now.

“Oh for god’s sake!” Peggy snaps. “You can’t be this dense!”

Bucky just shakes his head.

“I’m pregnant,” she says, a blunt echo of the same declaration five years ago.

Bucky’s first, wild thought is that it’s Steve’s again. Then he remembers that, of course, is impossible.

“Whose is it?” he asks stupidly.

Peggy looks startled.

“Yours, of course,” she says. “The night before you left with Howard,” she adds, when he just continues staring blankly at her.

“That… it was one time!”

“Yes,” says Peggy. “Nate is living proof one time is enough.”

Bucky takes a breath and runs his non-metal hand through his hair as several things slot into place.

“Peggy, if there’s someone else—”

“Someone else?” He’s too disoriented to notice the dangerous glint in her eye.

“Look, I— I’m not upset, if that’s what you think.” Which isn’t true, exactly, but he’s aware he has no actual right to be upset. “The terms of our marriage… it wasn’t fair, asking you to stay faithful and celibate when I had no intention of trying for a true marriage.”

“Nevertheless, I _have_ been faithful.”

“It’s been five years. Everyone accepts Nate is mine. We can divorce amicably, work out a custody arrangement. You deserve happiness.”

“I’m perfectly happy with the arrangement we have,” says Peggy, sounding angry now. “I haven’t broken the terms of our marriage. The child is yours.”

Bucky shakes his head, smiling a little.

“Come on, Pegs. I’m not an idiot.”

“You certainly do an excellent impression of one!”

“So you’re telling me you’ve had sex twice and gotten pregnant twice?” says Bucky skeptically. Dammit, he wants to be decent about this but she’s not making it easy.

“I’ve had sex more than twice, thank you,” says Peggy acidly. “But yes, the two most recent times have resulted in pregnancy. You know, I actually thought this was good news, but this conversation is making me reconsider that assessment.”

“You… good news…?” says Bucky weakly, now thrown completely.

Peggy sighs.

“I have never lied to you,” she says quietly. “You are the only person alive to whom I can say that. Do you really think I’d—” she cuts herself off, shaking her head, and the truth slams into him.

She’s not lying. What they did that night they can’t undo.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, unable to meet her eyes.

“I want this to work,” she says. “I told you that.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” he says again. He forces himself to look up at her. “It _is_ good news. It’s just…”

“A lot to take in,” says Peggy, nodding. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

“I want this to work too,” he says. “But it’s all new.”

“You don’t have to come to London,” she says. “I realize it’s too much too soon.”

“I’ll go next time.”

“If you’re up to it.”

“I want this to work too,” he repeats.

She gives him a small smile before seeming to snap back to her usual, efficient self.

“Good,” she says briskly. “I trust you understand I don’t want to tell anyone until it’s impossible to conceal. I may be the director now, but that won’t stop some people using my condition to try to sideline me.”

“Of course,” says Bucky. “But… are you still going to go in the field?”

“Are you volunteering to take my place?” asks Peggy, raising an eyebrow.

“Not exactly,” Bucky admits. He resented it at first, but now he’s nothing but grateful Peggy took him out of the field. It was never his natural home, and he’s more than a little afraid of who he becomes out there.

“Good, because I wouldn’t allow it,” she says. “We both know it’s not good for you.”

He nods. He gets it.

“I trust your judgment.”

“Thank you,” she says. “As for us, we’ll take it one day at a time.”

“I’d like that.”

\-----

“So,” says Morita when Bucky tells him a few months later, the day before the official announcement will go out to SHIELD, “that’s working out?”

“Getting there,” says Bucky. He and Peggy have fallen into an easy friendship now that the worst of the tension in their relationship has been released. They tell each other about their days, vent their various frustrations with Howard, the government, and their coworkers, and usually have fun when they go out as a family. He’s not in love with her, and he knows she’s not in love with him either, thank god, but he’s started to enjoy her company more than just about anyone else’s. He’s an idiot for wasting her friendship for five years, that’s abundantly clear.

“Happy to hear it,” says Morita. He pauses, then adds softly, “He’d be glad too, you know.”

“You think so?” Bucky wants to believe that, but he’s not so sure.

“Of course,” says Morita, looking surprised. “All he wanted was for you to be happy.”

Bucky looks sharply at him.

 _If that were true, he never would have asked me to follow him back onto the battlefield,_ he wants to say. _Hell, he never would have **been** on the battlefield in the first place._

Which is slightly unfair. Bucky’s feelings didn’t factor into Steve’s decisions, true, but it wasn’t indifference, exactly; he simply had other priorities. Bucky knows Steve didn’t want him to die, and he’s certain Steve never would have intentionally hurt him, so if that can be extrapolated to a wish for Bucky’s happiness, then Morita’s not entirely off the mark.

“With his girl, though?” he says instead, because wanting someone to survive and wanting them to take over your future aren’t at all the same thing.

“I meant both of you,” says Morita. “Don’t you think he’d be glad the two people he loved most found happiness together?”

Bucky gives a noncommittal grunt, shrugging. Few things in that sentence are true, but it’s a comforting thought nonetheless. Why argue with it?

“Besides, the ship sailed when you got her pregnant the first time,” Morita points out.

Yes, Bucky thinks, the ship _did_ sail when he got her pregnant the first time. It’s just that the first time happens to be five years later than anyone knows. That’s the dilemma.

“I won’t pretend to know how he’d feel about that,” Morita continues, “but I’m certain he wouldn’t wish a lifetime of misery on either of you.”

“We haven’t been miserable,” says Bucky, which is, if not true, not entirely false.

“You haven’t been happy, either,” says Morita. “Not until these past few months. We all get it, you know. No one blames either of you. And you have a great kid. This guilt you’ve been carrying around—”

“It’s not that.”

“Well, whatever it is, I’m glad to see you letting it go, man,” says Morita. “We’ve had enough taken from us. We don’t need to punish ourselves too.”

 _I haven’t been the one doing the punishing,_ Bucky wants to say. It’s never been guilt: it’s resentment. Not just of Peggy, but of Steve. Steve made the shitty choices, but Bucky got stuck with all the consequences.

Morita’s right about one thing, though: Bucky can’t resent or regret Nate, and he doesn’t regret this new baby either.

“Yeah, maybe,” he says. “I’m actually pretty excited, truth be told.”

“Good,” says Morita. “You should be.”

\-----

Michelle Stephanie Carter-Barnes is born December 7, 1950.

“For the brothers you’ve lost,” says Jarvis, nodding thoughtfully, when he and Howard bring Nate to the hospital that afternoon.

Bucky glances at Peggy.

“Something like that.”

“The next one better be named Howard,” says Howard.

“It’s George Howard,” Bucky reminds him.

“That’s the Jarvises’ kid, and it’s just a middle name. Pegs got a first name,” Howard counters, referring to the Jarvises’ daughter, Maggie, who was born just two months earlier. “I see the where the loyalty truly lies.”

“The last thing Jarvis and Ana need is _two_ children named Howard to look after,” says Peggy.

“Whereas another Margaret can only brighten all our lives,” Jarvis adds.

“You’re all traitors,” says Howard.

“Come on, Stark, how did you expect us to name our daughter after you?” says Bucky.

“I don’t know; you figured out how to name her after two other men,” Howard points out.

“Michael and Steven are a bit easier to feminize,” says Peggy. “Also, you’re not d—” she cuts herself off, her eyes darting to Bucky and away just as quickly.

“I like Michelle,” Nate announces, oblivious to the morose mood that’s descended on the adults in the room.

“Yeah?” says Bucky, smiling at him. “Me too, pal.”

“Some godson,” Howard grouses, but then he grins and ruffles Nate’s hair.

“If we make you godfather again, will you stop complaining?” says Bucky.

“Is anyone else even on the list?” Howard demands. “Forget it, I don’t want to know.”

“It’s a long list, but you’ve always been at the top,” Bucky assures him. The crazy thing is it’s absolutely true. At some point in the last five years, Howard became an indispensable part of his life.

Bucky’s going soft.

“Please don’t inflate his ego,” says Jarvis. “It’s already consuming most of the Earth’s atmosphere.”

“You’re lucky I can’t function without you,” says Howard.

“You barely function with me,” Jarvis retorts.

“As entertaining as this is, Michelle and I could both use a rest,” Peggy interjects.

“Yeah, yeah,” says Howard. “Come on, kid, we’ll go pick out a present for your sister.” He gives Bucky a pointed look as Nate gently kisses the top of the baby’s head. “I am her godfather, after all.”

\-----

“I don’t have to go this year,” Bucky tells Peggy that March.

“That’s not the deal we made,” says Peggy.

“We didn’t know about the baby when we made that deal,” says Bucky.

“Didn’t stop you the last time,” says Peggy; he might be imagining the bitter note in her voice.

“I wasn’t in the best place then,” he says, ignoring the stab of guilt.

“And you are now?”

“A better one.”

Her expression softens a little, and she leans forward and kisses him briefly.

“We’ll be fine.”

“I don’t have to go,” he says. “It doesn’t really matter.”

“It matters to you,” says Peggy quietly. “I won’t have you resenting our daughter over this.”

“I wouldn’t—” Bucky starts, although he’s not quite sure; Peggy’s always known him better than he knows himself.

“ _Go_ ,” says Peggy firmly, “or I’ll never hear the end of it from Howard.”

Bucky goes, but he spends half the voyage wishing he hadn’t. He misses the kids, which is no surprise, but he also misses _Peggy_ — her humor, her warmth, her wisdom, _her_. When he gets back and she’s waiting on the tarmac to greet him, he’s thrilled.

But the excitement of seeing her is almost instantly wiped out by horror when he notices her left arm encased in a white plaster cast and bound to her side by a sling.

“What happened?” he demands the moment he reaches her, his voice a little louder than normal since his arm is roaring in his ear. “Are you okay?”

Peggy rolls her eyes.

“Don’t be so dramatic. A mission went slightly awry a few weeks ago and—”

“A few _weeks_?” Bucky is appalled. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

“What good would that have been? What could you have done about it?” Peggy demands. “It’s a broken arm and a few cracked ribs. They’ll heal.”

“I could have come home!”

“Would you?” Peggy challenges.

That brings Bucky up short. He’s honestly not sure. He thinks he might have.

“We’ll never know,” he says icily.

“I suppose not,” says Peggy, just as icily.

“Was the mission successful, at least?” he growls.

“It was,” says Peggy. “Nguyen and Ascencio were especially brilliant. You trained them well.”

Bucky can’t picture Nguyen and Ascencio, since he makes it a point to forget his cadets as soon as they graduate — makes it easier at the funerals — but he’s gratified nonetheless.

“How’d you break your arm?” he asks in a slightly gentler tone.

“Stupid, really,” says Peggy. “I fell down a flight of stairs.”

“You were pushed, you mean,” says Bucky.

“‘Thrown’ would be more accurate,” says Peggy, her lips quirking slightly, but Bucky’s face must betray his horror because she raises her good hand to stroke his cheek. “My darling, I’m _fine_.”

He kisses her fiercely, but pulls back just as quickly.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters.

Peggy tugs his head down for another kiss, longer but without the desperation.

“I missed you too,” she murmurs, resting their foreheads together.

“I don’t think of you as vulnerable,” he whispers. “I hate it.”

“I’m fine,” she repeats. She steps away and takes his metal hand in her good one. “Come on. The children are dying to see you.”

She runs her thumb along the back of his hand as they make their way to the car and the whirring of his arm slows, quiets.

\-----

“Hey, Dad,” Nate says as Bucky tucks him in that night. “Does Mom fight bad men?”

“She— why do you ask?” says Bucky cautiously.

“I heard Mr. and Mrs. Jarvis talking about it,” says Nate. “After she got hurt. Did bad men hurt her?”

Bucky considers this carefully. He wishes he could put off this conversation until Nate is older. He wishes Nate had asked Peggy before he got home. He wishes Steve—

“Yeah, your mom fights bad men,” he says. “And sometimes she gets hurt. But I don’t want you to worry because the bad men always get hurt more. Your mom is the bravest, most dangerous person I know, and the bad men are the ones who should be worried, okay?”

Nate nods thoughtfully.

“Okay,” he says finally, and Bucky starts to breathe a sigh of relief when he adds, “You don’t need to worry either, Dad. If the bad men ever come here, I can protect Shell. I can protect everyone.”

It feels like all the air has been sucked from the room. This kid. This incredible, tiny, brave, stupid, Steve-like _kid_.

 _His_ kid.

“Hey.” Bucky drops to a crouch so he can look Nate straight in the eye. “You are never going to need to do that. That’s not your job, okay? That’s for me and your mom to take care of. We will always protect you. And your sister.”

“How? You’re not always here.”

It’s not an accusation — the tone is guileless, pure curiosity — but it still feels like a punch in the gut.

For a moment he sees Steve through the scope of his rifle, guard lower than it should be because he trusts Bucky to have his back. Trust well-placed.

… until it wasn’t.

_You’re not always here._

“No, we’re not,” he admits. “But the Jarvises are, right? And they keep you safe. There’s always going to be someone looking out for you. I’ll make sure of it.”

He pulls Nate into a hug, kisses his temple.

“I am never going to let anything bad happen to you,” he murmurs into his hair, even though he knows from bitter experience it’s a promise that’s not entirely in his hands, a vow he almost certainly won’t be able to keep.

“I know,” says Nate, pure trust, and damned if Bucky won’t die trying.

\-----

The next summer, Howard takes the Jarvises with him to England, where he’s building a new branch of Stark Industries. While they’re away, Bucky takes the kids to Pasadena with him and drops them off at the Moritas’ house on the base, where Dorothy Morita looks after them along with her and Jim’s own three kids.

“Dad!” cries Nate, running up to them when Bucky and Morita pull up to the house one afternoon. “Look! We’re making desert snowmen!”

Bucky looks in the direction Nate’s pointing and sees several tumbleweeds stacked on top of each other in a passing resemblance of two snowmen, in shape if nothing else. Robin is tugging impatiently at the side of a stack, trying, Bucky thinks, to form an arm. Caleb is attempting to balance pebbles in the top tumbleweed of the other stack, but they keep falling to the ground. A few feet away, Joan is drawing in the dirt with a stick, while Michelle, sitting placidly next to Caleb’s “snowman”, seems mostly interested in picking up the failed eye-pebbles and shoving them into her socks.

“That’s amazing, pal!” says Bucky, electing to ignore Michelle’s current occupation, which Peggy will either find highly amusing or extremely negligent on his part.

“Very impressive!” Morita agrees.

“Horrible,” Bucky says in an undertone to Morita when Nate skips back over to Robin, beaming. “My kids don’t even know what a snowman is.”

Morita laughs.

“I taught them that,” he says. “The kids at Butte used to—” he breaks off; clears his throat.

Bucky looks over at the kids again, feeling like an intruder. Morita never talks about the internment.

“Desert kid thing,” says Morita finally, with forced lightness. “Take the kids to the mountains if you’re so concerned. All the joy, none of the hassle. Stark’s gotta have a ski lodge somewhere, right?”

“Yeah, in the Alps, probably,” says Bucky. “I’d rather wait a few years before we take Michelle on a plane. Flying with a baby once was enough.”

But the idea sticks in his brain, and he brings it up to Peggy that evening after the kids have been put to bed.

“You know our kids have never seen a real snowman?”

“What?” says Peggy.

“At Morita’s today they made something called ‘desert snowmen’,” says Bucky. “They’re tumbleweeds that you stack in the shape of snowmen. They’re terrible.”

“Sounds rather creative to me,” says Peggy.

“Our kids have never seen snow,” Bucky reiterates.

“And how do you propose we correct this glaring oversight?”

“Family vacation.”

“A _family vacation_?” Peggy repeats incredulously.

“I know that’s not our thing,” says Bucky, “but all the more reason to do it. I was thinking we could go to the Sierra Ski Ranch this winter.”

“You know Michelle isn’t old enough to appreciate or remember something like that,” says Peggy.

“She’ll get the idea,” says Bucky.

“Mm. And who do you think will run SHIELD while we’re gone?” Peggy questions, but there’s laughter in her voice and Bucky knows he’s convinced her.

“Rose can handle it,” he says anyway; Rose is Peggy’s secretary, and second-in-command in practice, if not in name. “Howard will back her up, you know that. And Morita has the Forge covered.”

“Morita already has to cover the Forge when you and Howard run off every spring,” Peggy reminds him.

“So we know he can handle it,” says Bucky. “Come on, it’s weird we’ve never vacationed as a family. We need to show the kids there’s life outside this compound.”

“They’re hardly prisoners,” says Peggy. “Can you even ski?”

Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Pegs, I run the most elite training program in the country. I think I can slide down a hill on some planks.”

“Well,” says Peggy, smirking, “we have to go now.”

Several months later Bucky discovers, to his chagrin and Peggy’s great amusement, that he cannot, in fact, “slide down a hill on some planks” — at least not without considerable practice. But by the end of the week he can make it down the easiest course without falling down every ten feet, Nate and Michelle have built several snowmen out of actual snow, and SHIELD hasn’t fallen into chaos, so he and Peggy agree it was a success.

It becomes part of their yearly routine: Bucky and Howard go out to the Arctic in the spring, Howard and the Jarvises return to England in the summer, Bucky and Peggy take the kids and head up to the mountains when the slopes open, and then the whole cycle starts over again, familiar and comfortable and almost fulfilling enough for Bucky to forget what it cost.

\-----

“You heading out again?”

Bucky looks up and immediately experiences a powerful sense of déjà vu. Nate is leaning against the doorframe, eerily reminiscent of his mother in the same spot half a decade ago.

“First day of every spring,” says Bucky, rolling another pair of socks and tossing them into his open suitcase.

Nate nods thoughtfully, moving into the room. He takes a sweater from the pile of clothes on the bed and folds it in the neat, precise way Bucky’s never mastered. Ana’s a good teacher.

“Think you’ll find anything this time?” Nate asks, setting the sweater carefully in the suitcase.

 _We never do,_ Bucky thinks. He wonders if Nate’s thinking it too. He shrugs.

“Have to sometime, right?” he says.

“I guess.” Nate pulls the pile of clothes closer and begins folding another sweater. “Mom says you and Steve grew up together. She says if Michelle or one of the Jarvises got lost, I’d never stop looking for them, either.”

Bucky isn’t sure about that. Nate is Peggy and Steve’s son, after all, and his true parents grieve — grieved — more sensibly.

But he also recognizes this as kindness on Peggy’s part: a more innocent explanation for Bucky’s obsession, and one that prevents Nate from resenting either of his fathers.

“She says you still love him, even though he’s gone,” Nate adds.

“I do,” Bucky admits softly.

Grief is a state of being, not a process. It internalizes, becomes part of who you are. He prays Nate won’t have to learn that as young as he did.

“If I got lost, would you look so hard for me?” Nate asks, looking up at him.

“Harder,” says Bucky fiercely. “But I would never let you get lost.”

Nate starts on a flannel button-down.

“Mom says that’s not always up to you.”

Damn Peggy. Why the hell would she tell the kid a horrifying truth like that?

“She says you’d never have let Steve get lost if you could stop it,” Nate adds.

“I wouldn’t,” Bucky whispers.

“Dad,” says Nate softly, “I know finding the plane is really important to you. But ‘lost’ is just a nicer word you use, right? Steve is dead.” He pauses mid-fold and meets Bucky’s eyes again. “Isn’t he?”

Bucky gapes at him. In ten years, he has never acknowledged this aloud.

“Yeah,” he says finally; his voice is surprisingly steady. “Steve is dead. Steve has been dead for ten years. And— and finding him won’t change that.”

“Then why keep looking?”

“Because I promised I wouldn’t go home without him,” says Bucky. “And I know it doesn’t make sense to you — honestly, I don’t know if it’ll ever make sense to you — but I still want to bring him home. I want to bring his body home. I want to keep my promise.”

“Then you will. You always keep your promises,” says Nate confidently, and Bucky feels a great surge of affection for him.

“Well,” he says, “I try, anyway.”

That he so often fails is a truth he hopes Nate will never have to know.

\-----

“The memorial’s coming along nicely,” Peggy tells him when she and Howard get back from the VE Day tenth anniversary celebration in DC. “On track for unveiling on the Fourth.”

“Great,” Bucky grunts. Of course. Of _course_ they’re unveiling that monstrosity on his actual _birthday_ , god, those bastards really have no shame.

“You understand we have to go to the dedication, don’t you?” says Peggy.

“Sure,” says Bucky. “We’ll bring the kids, make it a family affair. ‘Look, Nate, here’s a gaudy memorial to what people imagine your—’”

“The Jarvises will look after the children, if you’d like,” says Peggy.

Bucky sighs. Rubs a hand across his face. Marvels at Howard’s latest arm upgrade — he can barely hear the hum now.

Or maybe after a decade he’s just gotten used to it.

“Pegs, you know he never would have wanted a statue, right?” he says.

“Or a base, or a ship,” says Peggy. “It’s out of our hands, Buck. He chose— when he picked up that shield, he chose to become something much bigger than himself. Something not even he could control, and certainly not either of us.” She shakes her head. “Though god knows we’ve tried.”

Peggy’s always been able to get to the crux of it. Bucky says he doesn’t like people making these decisions for Steve, but what he really means is he doesn’t like people who aren’t _him_ making these decisions for Steve. That was always their whole problem. _He was mine first,_ except, of course, he was never really Bucky’s at all.

He’s still right about the statue, though.

“They want you to say something,” Peggy adds, and Bucky lets out an incredulous laugh.

“They really don’t.”

“That’s what I told them,” says Peggy, smiling slightly. “But they’ve been very insistent.”

“You should do it,” says Bucky. “You’re the director; you were his girl.” He’s come a long way in ten years: his voice is almost completely devoid of bitterness.

“You knew him best,” says Peggy simply, and that concession is the reason he’s been able to grow to love her.

“I can’t say what they want me to say, Pegs,” he says. “You know that.”

“Yes, I know,” says Peggy. “Maybe there’s a space between what you want to say and what you _can_ say, though.”

\-----

Two months later, Bucky follows Peggy into the press offices in the West Wing. He hasn’t been to DC since before Eisenhower was elected, preferring to let Peggy and Howard deal with the political posturing now that Peggy’s position is relatively secure. He hasn’t missed it.

“Ah, Director Carter,” says James Hagerty, the White House Press Secretary, leaping to his feet when they enter his office and warmly clasping Peggy’s hand. “Great to see you, ma’am.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hagerty,” says Peggy; she gestures to Bucky, standing slightly behind her. “I’m sure you know of my husband, Agent Bucky Barnes.”

“Of course,” says Hagerty. “It’s an honor to meet you, Agent Barnes.”

 _Thank you,_ Bucky can almost hear Peggy willing him to say as he gives Hagerty’s hand a perfunctory shake.

“I bet,” he says instead. He knows all these government goons are thinking the same thing when they meet him: the wrong boy from Brooklyn got resurrected. Ideally Bucky would have stayed dead, Steve would have been found alive and well, and they’d get to trot out the living, breathing Captain America every time they want to score a political point without that goddamned Bucky Barnes spilling his self-righteous outrage everywhere.

They’re idiots. Steve’s death is the greatest gift they ever got. Now they can twist Captain America into whatever they need without Steve popping up to contradict them. If they think Bucky Barnes is difficult, they’d be paralyzed in the face of Steve Rogers.

“The president appreciates you agreeing to give some remarks today,” says Hagerty without missing a beat.

“I haven’t agreed to anything yet.”

“Agent Barnes, we understand how difficult this must be for—”

“Do you?” Bucky challenges, ignoring Peggy’s pointed look.

Hagerty sighs.

“You’re the closest thing to a living relative Captain Rogers has,” he says.

Bucky bites back a smile. No matter the circumstances, he always likes confirmation that this is universally accepted as fact. He and Peggy have done good.

“We’re trying to honor that,” Hagerty adds.

“You could have honored that by asking for my input before beginning construction on a memorial I can assure you Steve Rogers would never have wanted,” Bucky points out, “and that you now want me to endorse. That’s no honor.”

Hagerty’s expression hardens.

“We will, of course, be vetting your comments beforehand,” he says.

“I’m sure you will.”

It doesn’t make a difference to Bucky. His remarks were written by a few people in the SHIELD press office, “personalized” by him, and then vetted by the entire SHIELD press team. They have so little to do with his actual emotions that Hagerty could rewrite the whole thing and it’d be just as meaningful.

“Don’t go off-script,” Hagerty warns.

Bucky smiles, shows all his teeth, ignores the whirring of his arm.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

\-----

Bucky — sitting in the front row between Peggy and General Phillips — isn’t fully listening as Charles Wilson, the Secretary of Defense who didn’t serve in the war and never once set eyes on the living Steve Rogers, gives his opening remarks — _Captain America, an embodiment of patriotism, service, and sacrifice_ — the sun reflecting off the statue behind him.

It’s a beautiful statue — fifteen feet of polished bronze, face set and determined, shield shining on the raised right arm. _Stalwart and steady and true._

( _Who’ll rise and fall, give his all, for America?_ It was a joke, once — the trite USO tune that turned out to be a prophecy.)

It’s a beautiful statue, and it’s entirely Captain America — aloof and cold and unmoving. There’s not a shred of Steve Rogers in it.

On Bucky’s left, Phillips stands and makes his way onto the makeshift stage to take over the podium from Wilson. Howard, on Peggy’s other side, is completely absorbed in writing something in the notebook he always carries with him in case he has a sudden revelation about an experiment or invention. Bucky’s supposed to speak next, so he tries to focus on Phillips’ speech so he doesn’t miss his cue, but it’s difficult when all he can really hear is the low hum of his cybernetic arm and the incessant scratching of Howard’s pencil.

His eyes are inescapably drawn up to the statue again. Maybe it’s Steve Rogers as he is now and Bucky simply doesn’t want to face it.

In his mind’s eye Steve is vibrant and warm and always in motion, never quite still, but really he’s frozen, literally and in time, forever the self-sacrificing hero, forever twenty-six.

Twenty-six. God. Just a kid, really.

They were just kids.

Twenty-six. The same age Bucky was when he got a letter telling him he’d been selected to die (not that Steve knew that, not that Bucky would ever let him know it).

And they were the elders, the experienced, the ones who’d been allowed to have a taste of the future that might have been if the war hadn’t snatched it away. Bucky had watched teenagers — actual goddamned _children_ — get blown away, held their hands as the life seeped out of them.

Steve — Steve with his serum and his dancing USO troop and his elite team of Commandos (and Bucky, always Bucky, shielding him from the war’s ugliest parts) — Steve had been spared that, at least; had been allowed to die with a shred of innocence intact.

Small mercies.

“And now I believe former Howling Commando — and Captain Rogers’ close, personal friend — Agent James Barnes will give a few remarks.”

Phillips’ voice cuts into Bucky’s thoughts. Peggy squeezes his hand as he gets to his feet. Phillips gives him odd look when they shake hands that Bucky’s not sure if he should interpret as, _Give ’em hell, kid!_ or _Don’t screw this up, jackass!_

The one advantage of addressing the crowd, Bucky realizes as he places his notes on the podium, is that now he can’t see the damn statue.

“Thank you, General Phillips. Mr. President.” Bucky nods at Eisenhower, seated in the front row between his chief of staff, Sherman Adams, and Secretary Wilson. “Ladies and gentlemen.

“We’ve heard a lot about Captain America today. But I’m here to talk about Steve Rogers. Steve Rogers was— he was—” He turns his notes down before he realizes he’s made the decision. Beyond the podium, he can see Hagerty’s expression turn slightly alarmed.

“Steve Rogers was a pain in the ass!” Bucky declares.

The dead silence that follows is broken only by a grunt from Phillips that’s something between a laugh and a noise of agreement. Peggy’s lips quirk slightly upward. Eisenhower and Wilson also look amused, but Adams’ expression is disapproving, and Hagerty makes an aborted movement toward the podium like he wants to tackle Bucky before he says more.

Well, fuck ’em. Bucky warned them repeatedly and they insisted he get up here anyway.

“Steve Rogers never followed an order he disagreed with in his goddamned life. Whether it was from his mother telling him to take it easy when he was sick, or from me telling him to keep his mouth shut when he called out a bully twice his size, or from General Phillips here telling him to leave me and the rest of the 107th to die behind enemy lines.”

The color drains out of Hagerty’s face. Wilson’s has gone carefully blank. Phillips merely looks unimpressed. Howard looks up from his notebook and glances around, as though he’s finally registered something actually interesting is happening.

“Steve Rogers had the strongest moral compass of anyone I’ve ever met. Any book you read about him and everyone else here today will tell you Steve Rogers died for this country. But I’m here to tell you that’s not true.”

Wilson’s eyes widen. Hagerty is gripping the edge of his chair. Even Phillips looks slightly wary.

“Steve Rogers died to save innocent lives: American lives, yes, but also German, Italian, Japanese, Soviet.”

Adams lets out a strangled sound, and Hagerty makes another aborted move toward Bucky, but Peggy is smiling a little, and Howard appears positively gleeful.

“Steve cared more about people than patriotism. He cared more about doing what was right than what was popular or even lawful. The people here today can and will make Captain America into a symbol for whatever they want and need, but Steve Rogers stood for more than that. He stood for kindness as much as justice, and compassion as much as strength. Captain America is an icon, but Steve Rogers was action. He was the best man I’ve ever had the privilege to know, and if we could all try to be a little more like him — a little kinder and fairer and _better_ — _that’s_ the memorial he would have wanted.”

His eyes find Peggy’s; she gives him a very small, sad smile, nodding a little.

“Thank you, Agent Barnes.”

Bucky startles at Eisenhower’s soft voice; at some point the president has come up beside him.

“Your friend was a good man,” Eisenhower continues quietly; he holds out his hand.

“Better than any of us,” says Bucky. He takes the offered hand, shakes it once. Eisenhower pats his left arm and doesn’t even flinch when it gives a low hum.

“I’m profoundly sorry for your loss,” he says.

Bucky almost believes him.

Almost.

\-----

“I could go with you,” Nate suggests that March, when Bucky starts packing.

“You have school, pal,” Bucky reminds him.

Nate’s jaw clenches and his hands ball into fists at his sides, and Bucky feels a sudden pang. Nate looks more and more like Peggy every day, thank god, except for the blue eyes that everyone accepts come from Bucky, but his mannerisms are almost entirely Steve’s. No one at SHIELD knew Steve well enough to notice — he doubts even Peggy sees it most of the time — but Bucky grew up with him side by side, and he sees him in his son’s every tic and unguarded expression.

It’s been eleven years. He so desperately wishes he could bury this.

“It’s Easter break in a few weeks,” says Nate. “I could come out for my week off. I bet Uncle Howard would charter a helicopter for me.”

Bucky has no doubt he would. Howard would give the kid anything he asked for, and of course he doesn’t know — can never know — why Bucky and Peggy want to keep Nate away from this.

“Your mom and Mrs. Jarvis will need help,” he says, knowing it’s a lame excuse.

“Eddie and George can handle it,” says Nate. “They’ll look out for Michelle if I ask them.”

Bucky sighs. He knows one day he’s going to have to share this with Nate (or give it up; and he will never, ever give it up).

But not yet. He’s still so, so young. Too young to carry this burden, this legacy. Not yet.

“Tell you what, pal,” says Bucky, closing his suitcase and turning to his son, “you stay here, help out your mom and Mrs. Jarvis, and when I get back, I’ll take you to Disneyland, just the two of us. You can even skip a day of school. Sound good?”

Nate mulls this over.

“I don’t think Mom’s gonna go for that,” he says finally, frowning.

Bucky laughs.

“Let me handle Mom,” he says, relieved. “And I’ll talk to Uncle Howard about you boys maybe visiting his film set during your break.”

“Film sets are boring,” says Nate.

Bucky generally agrees with this assessment, but he also has an ace ready.

“All of them?” he counters. “His studio is shooting a John Wayne right now.”

Nate lights up.

“I’m gonna meet John Wayne!?”

“Absolutely,” Bucky promises. “See? You’ll have so much fun, you won’t even notice I’m gone.”

“I could never have that much fun,” says Nate with a particularly Steve-like sincerity, and Bucky feels another pang.

“I won’t be gone so long this time,” he decides on the spot. “Just three weeks. I promise.”

“Okay,” Nate agrees, looking happier. “But that doesn’t get you off the hook for Disneyland.”

Bucky laughs again.

“Understood.”

\-----

“If you’re set on going home Sunday, I have a weapons test you could run next week. Just a couple days in the desert,” says Howard. It’s Wednesday evening of the third week of the expedition, and he and Bucky, as is their nightly custom, are drinking scotch and playing backgammon in Howard’s cabin (they used to play chess, but up against Howard, Bucky prefers a game with at least an element of chance).

“Can’t,” says Bucky as he finishes his move. “I promised Nate I’d take him to Disneyland.”

Howard snorts.

“Disneyland!” he says scornfully. “Walt’s monument to his own ego, you mean. What’s he done that’s so great? Was he instrumental in ending World War II?”

“Were you?” says Bucky, smirking, because the set-up is too easy. He scoops the dice into the cup and hands it to Howard, who just glares at him and continues his rant, now waving the dice cup for emphasis.

“Everyone acts like Walt invented the concept of carnival rides and fair games. Meanwhile, I’m out here contributing something actually meaningful to history.” The cup rattles indignantly. “I could build a so-called theme park if I wanted to, you know.”

“So do it,” says Bucky. “Preferably in Santa Monica. Driving all the way to Anaheim is a pain.”

Howard rolls his eyes.

“You’re hilarious.”

“I am hilarious,” says Bucky. He takes a sip of scotch and smirks again. “Are you going to roll or are you already conceding defeat?”

Howard’s retort is lost as the cabin radio crackles to life.

_“Sir. Mr. Stark. Agent Barnes. You should get up here.”_

The voice is half excited, half apprehensive. Bucky and Howard freeze, staring at each other. In eleven years, they’ve never had an evening interrupted like this.

Howard speaks first.

“Do you think—?”

“Don’t,” says Bucky. “ _Don’t._ ”

Howard goes over to the radio.

“On our way,” he tells it, then turns to Bucky. “Let’s go.”

But Bucky doesn’t move. For all his talk of hope and promises, it’s been years since he actually expected to find anything. After the first couple years, the expedition was mostly an excuse to get away from Peggy and the reality of his family situation, and now it’s simply the thing he and Howard do every spring, like other people’s annual camping trips or beach vacations. The closure he’s sought so desperately for over a decade is just a deck away and suddenly he’s not sure he even wants it.

If they’ve found the plane, if they’ve found the body, then that’s it. If he sees Steve’s body, it’s over.

Steve is dead.

“Barnes!” Howard’s voice pulls him back. “Are you coming?”

But Steve is already dead. Steve has been dead for eleven years.

“Yeah,” he says, forcing himself to his feet. “Yeah, let’s go.”

They head to the control room, where they find the captain has already been summoned and the crew is barely maintaining their professional composure. Most of them have been part of every annual expedition, and this is by far the most exciting thing to ever happen on one.

“What’ve you got for us, captain?” Howard asks.

“Sonar picked up some kind of wreckage a couple hours ago,” Captain Rodriguez tells them.

“And you didn’t tell us?” Bucky demands.

“I didn’t want to disturb you if it turned out to be nothing,” says Rodriguez. _I didn’t want to get your hopes up,_ goes unsaid. “Our probe made contact a few minutes ago. We can’t say anything conclusively yet, of course, but…” He gestures to a monitor.

Bucky crowds behind Howard, straining to see the staticky image over his shoulder. Under a layer of ice he can barely make out some kind of wreckage with a large, black tentacle painted on its side.

The Hydra emblem. They’ve found the _Valkyrie_.

They’ve found Steve.


	3. Part III

Peggy brings a SHIELD excavation team to meet them a few days later.

“What did you tell Nate?” Bucky asks.

“To mind Ana and look after Michelle,” says Peggy. “What do you think?”

“I was supposed to take him to Disneyland next week,” says Bucky.

“Plenty of time for that when this is over,” says Peggy. “You can go every day next spring.”

Bucky looks sharply at her, surprised. It hadn’t occurred to him that now they’ve recovered the _Valkyrie_ , there’s no reason for an annual Arctic voyage.

They dig the shield out first.

“Welcome back, baby!” Howard coos, when two agents bring it into the boiler room for the remaining ice layer to defrost. “I thought I’d never see you again!”

“Yeah,” says Bucky, “ _that_ was the big loss.”

“It’s the rarest metal on Earth, so it wasn’t nothing,” Howard retorts.

Bucky doesn’t care if it’s made from metal that’s only found on the moon: he hates that shield.

It takes several more days to recover the body. They cut it out still encased in a large, eerily coffin-like block of ice to keep it preserved on the voyage to New York.

Officially, they haven’t found anything. The deal is Howard gets fourteen days with the body off the books before Peggy claims it for SHIELD and reports it to the rest of the government. Bucky doesn’t like the idea of Howard poking around Steve’s corpse, but he likes the idea of scientists recruited through Operation Paperclip doing it even less. As sick as it makes him feel thinking it, he hopes Howard can strip the body of anything weaponizable (although he’s pretty sure the only way to ensure that is cremation, and that’s something neither Howard nor Peggy will allow).

Bucky calls home as soon as they dock in New York.

“I’m so sorry, pal. I know I said I wouldn’t be gone so long,” he says when Ana puts Nate on the phone.

“It’s okay. Extenuating circumstances,” says Nate. “But now you owe me _two_ days at Disneyland.”

“On different weeks,” Bucky qualifies. “I can’t talk your mom into you skipping two days of school in a row.”

“Deal,” says Nate. “Hey, Dad?”

“Yeah, pal?”

“Do you feel better?” Nate asks softly, and Bucky’s heart aches a little.

“I— yeah. I do,” he says. It’s not true, but he hopes it will be.

“Good,” says Nate. “I’m glad. Michelle wants to talk to you. I love you, Dad.”

“I love you too,” says Bucky. “So, so much. I’ll see you soon.”

That evening he goes to Brooklyn for the first time since he married Peggy and visits Sarah Rogers’ grave.

“Hey, Mrs. Rogers,” he murmurs, sitting down on the grass and leaning against her headstone the way Steve used to do, once upon a time. “It’s been awhile.”

 _Never mind, dear, it’s just wonderful to see you,_ he can almost hear her say. He picks a little at a blade of grass.

“I found him. Took me eleven years and a crazy amount of funding from an obsessed millionaire, but I found him. Stark promised once he gets him defrosted he’ll let me—

“God, I’m glad you’re not here to see this.

“I can’t guarantee they’ll let me put him next to you. They probably won’t. They’ll probably build some horrible mausoleum in Arlington or something. I’ll try though, I promise. I know it’s what he’d want.

“I’m glad you didn’t have to lose him, but I wish you’d had a chance to meet Peggy. You’d have loved her. And Nate, and Michelle. It kills me that they’ll never know him. You understand, right? Did it kill you that he never got to meet his dad? I wish I—

“It doesn’t matter. I guess he’s met him now.

“I hope you’re at peace. I hope you all are.”

When he leaves the cemetery he doesn’t feel closure, exactly; but maybe like the constant bleeding of his heart has slowed a little, has started to scar.

\-----

He spends the next day holed up in the mansion. Peggy is on the phone with Rose most of the day, keeping SHIELD running and the news of the _Valkyrie_ ’s recovery contained. Bucky reads and rereads the same three pages of some cheap Western he assumes Howard has in his library because he’s thinking of adapting it into a film (or possibly already has; Bucky doesn’t track what Howard’s studio does very closely), but it’s impossible to focus long enough to actually follow the story when all he can think about is Steve’s corpse slowly thawing in Howard’s lab.

Howard returns in the early afternoon.

“Oh good, you’re both here,” he says when he finds them in the library.

“You’re back early,” says Peggy, frowning a little.

“How are things at the lab?” Bucky forces himself to ask.

“I’ll tell you in a minute,” says Howard. “I need to talk to you two.”

“Okay,” says Peggy warily. She gets up from the desk and comes to sit beside Bucky on one of the sofas. Howard takes a seat across from them, drumming his fingers nervously against his thigh. Bucky’s arm gives a low hum.

“What do you know about cryopreservation?”

“Deep-freezing organic material for long-term preservation, isn’t it?” says Peggy.

“Close enough,” says Howard. “It’s pretty hot right now, and in recent tests they’ve revived some cryopreserved simple lifeforms upon thawing.”

“That’s fascinating,” says Bucky impatiently, even though under normal circumstances he _would_ find it fascinating. “What’s your point?”

“Due to the conditions of the _Valkyrie_ ’s crash, Rogers was essentially naturally cryopreserved,” says Howard.

Peggy suddenly grips Bucky’s wrist painfully tightly.

“What are you saying?” she breathes.

“Exactly what you think,” says Howard. “There’s a chance we could revive him. Bring him back.”

Bucky and Peggy just stare at him.

“That’s impossible,” Bucky finally chokes out.

“It’s not impossible, it’s just never successfully been done on a mammal,” says Howard, sounding irritated. “But the principle is solid. Your pal Walt’s obsessed with the idea.”

“He’s not my— is this the time?” Bucky snaps.

“What do we have to lose?” says Howard. “Technically he’s already dead. If it doesn’t work, that doesn’t change. But if it does…”

Then what? Bucky’s surprised to realize he’s actually been pretty happy stepping into Steve’s life since the war. He loves Nate. He loves Peggy. He even likes being part of SHIELD. He’s never contemplated the complications of Steve coming back to reclaim those things because Steve was never coming back except in fantasies where logistics simply weren’t an issue.

Of course he wants Steve back. It’s all he’s wanted for eleven years.

But god, what are they going to tell him? What are they going to tell _Nate_?

“But likely it won’t,” says Peggy, dragging him back to the present. “Of course you ought to try, Howard, but I don’t want either of you getting your hopes up.”

 _Hope_ isn’t quite the emotion Bucky is experiencing.

“Do you have everything you need to undertake this?” Peggy asks Howard.

“In terms of equipment, yes,” says Howard. “I’ll probably need to borrow a few SHIELD medics once we’re ready to start the revival process. Mostly I need to keep the government off my ass.”

“I’ll take care of it,” says Peggy. “How much time will you need to prepare before you attempt it? Weeks? Months?”

“Well—”

“We haven’t disclosed the discovery yet,” Bucky interrupts. “Maybe we should keep him cryopreserved until someone finds a way to successfully revive a less complex mammal.”

He’s aware the longer Steve’s on ice, the more difficult it will be to incorporate him into his life, but he truly does want Howard to succeed, and rushing the procedure doesn’t seem to offer the best odds.

Besides, it’ll give him time to think.

“Well someone better do that fast, since I started defrosting him this morning,” says Howard.

“You did _what_?” Bucky bellows, leaping to his feet.

“For god’s sake, Howard!” cries Peggy. “Do you think _anything_ through?”

“You had no right!” Bucky snarls, advancing on Howard, but Peggy grabs his arm.

“Darling, calm down.”

“He had no right!”

“He absolutely did not,” Peggy agrees, glaring at Howard, who has the sense to look slightly guilty. “But he’s also Steve’s only chance at survival now.”

“We could always call Walt,” says Bucky.

“Oh please!” Howard scoffs. “Walt’s not a scientist, as _if_ he could—”

“Shut up!” Bucky and Peggy snap in unison.

“I swear to god, Stark, if you fail at this and then someone succeeds later—” Bucky snarls.

“I’m not gonna fail, _shit_ , give me some credit!” says Howard indignantly.

“We all remember the flying car!”

“Are people ever gonna let that go? The car works!”

“The _second_ car works,” Bucky corrects. “If this doesn’t work, we don’t have a second Steve!”

“I’m aware of the stakes, actually, thank you very much.”

“ _Are_ you?!”

“I only get fourteen days with the body,” says Howard. “I had to make a decision fast.”

“And you didn’t have time to make a phone call?” Bucky demands. “I’m sure Peggy would have given you an extension if you’d explained.”

“Yes, but he _wasn’t_ sure,” says Peggy in a low, dangerous voice. She looks at Howard. “Were you?”

Howard doesn’t meet her eyes.

“I didn’t want to take that chance,” he mutters. “But it wasn’t just about that!” he adds, when Bucky and Peggy both begin to indignantly retort. “It was plausible deniability. No matter which way this goes there’ll be a ton of heat for it. You can throw me under bus no problem, _crazy Stark, always going rogue_ —”

“Don’t think we won’t!” Bucky snaps.

“You’re not the only one who cares about Rogers, you know!”

“All you care about is your ego!”

“Stop it, both of you!” Peggy interjects. “We can assign blame later. Howard, use whatever SHIELD resources you need to make this work. I’ll keep it contained as long as it takes. Do not rush this.”

“I’m not rushing anything,” says Howard. “But it’s happening now. I should probably get back to the lab, actually.”

“Yeah, probably,” says Bucky.

“I wanted to explain in person,” says Howard.

“Brave,” Bucky growls.

“Next time _ask permission_ in person,” says Peggy. “Now get back to the lab. I don’t want to see you again until you have news one way or the other.”

\-----

They don’t see Howard for several days. Peggy quickly grows weary of Bucky pacing around the house while she’s trying to coordinate things with Rose over the phone, and sends him off to the art and theatre districts in the hope there are enough museums and shows to distract him. It works in the sense that it keeps him out of Peggy’s way, and doesn’t in that it utterly fails to keep his mind off Steve.

Now that reviving Steve is a possibility, he can’t face the thought of it _not_ working. If Howard fails, it’ll be like losing Steve all over again.

But he’s terrified of what Steve’s resurrection will mean for the life he’s fought so hard to build. He took Steve’s girl. He took Steve’s _kid_.

And as much as he didn’t want them in the beginning, now he can’t imagine giving them up. And what about Michelle? They can’t even pretend they—

Why couldn’t they have found the _Valkyrie_ eleven years ago before everything got so damn complicated?

Not that he wants to erase Michelle. He loves his daughter. And he doesn’t want to pretend he and Peggy don’t have anything. He just wishes...

He doesn’t know what he wishes anymore.

He’s lying awake going over all this for the millionth time several nights later when the bedroom door bursts open.

“What the hell?” Bucky sits up and feels around for the lamp switch. There’s a _crack_ and someone gasps sharply.

“Ow! Shit! _Peggy!_ ”

Bucky finally finds the light switch and clicks it on.

“Stark?”

Howard is standing just inside the doorway, rubbing his jaw.

“You hit me!” he says accusingly to Peggy, whose fist is still raised.

“You broke into my bedroom in the middle of the night!” she rejoins. She lowers her fist and pulls Howard’s hand away from his face so she can examine it. “You’re lucky all you have is a bruised jaw. What the hell were you thinking?”

“You told me to come back when I had news,” says Howard defensively.

Peggy whips around to meet Bucky’s eyes.

“Well?” she demands, turning back to Howard.

“I did it,” says Howard, grinning. “He’s waking up tomorrow. I actually did it!”

\-----

After Howard walks them through the more relevant details — Steve’s body is functioning normally, he’s in a medically-induced coma, they’ll bring him out of it in the morning — he goes off to get some well-earned sleep in his own bed, leaving Bucky and Peggy sitting in stunned silence for several minutes.

“What are we going to tell him?” says Peggy finally.

“Steve?” Bucky asks. “Or Nate?”

Peggy smiles wryly.

“Both, I suppose.”

“Steve will have to be the truth,” says Bucky. “It’ll be worse if he figures it out on his own — and he _will_ figure it out. The only reason no one else has is because everyone who knew us as kids is dead. It’s not subtle.”

“If you’re sure,” says Peggy. “And Nate?”

Bucky hesitates, feeling the surge of possessiveness he used to have for Steve for his son.

“I don’t know,” he says slowly. “It’s complicated, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it’s very complicated,” Peggy agrees. “We had good reasons for beginning this fiction, and even with Steve back, I’d say most of the reasons are still valid. And it’s not entirely fiction anymore, is it? You _are_ his father, in every sense but blood.”

Bucky closes his eyes, overwhelmed with relief.

“Thank you,” he whispers shakily.

Peggy covers his hand with hers, and he turns his over and laces their fingers together.

“You know you’re my best friend, right?” he says after a moment.

Once — for most of his life — Steve had been his best friend. But that had been complicated by all the other things he felt for Steve that went beyond simple friendship.

Not, of course, that his relationship with Peggy isn’t complicated too, for different reasons.

“I mean it,” he continues. “I don’t know— I don’t like to think what I’d be doing or who I’d be if you hadn’t…”

“Emotionally blackmailed you into marrying me?” Peggy finishes with a slight smile, bumping his shoulder lightly with hers.

He bumps hers back a little harder, smiling too.

“I’m serious,” he says. “You gave me a reason to live again. You and Nate… you’re the reason I didn’t completely lose myself after. So whatever happens next, just…” he catches her eye, locks their gazes together: “Thank you.”

Peggy leans over and kisses him briefly, pulling back only enough to rest their foreheads together.

“You’re my best friend too,” she murmurs. “However it started and whatever happens next, what we’ve had and what we have is real. We’re family. Don’t forget that.”

Bucky kisses her fiercely.

“I love you,” he whispers against her lips. “No matter what happens tomorrow, I love you.”

“I love you too,” she breathes. “Always.”

\-----

The three of them go to the lab first thing in the morning. It’s in an old SSR building, and they pass through several sets of steel-reinforced secure doors before they finally arrive in a hospital-like area in the basement where they’re greeted by Dr. Claudia Retrosi, the head doctor at the Forge’s medical center and a frequent visitor in Howard’s labs.

“How’s he doing?” Peggy asks.

“Physically he’s in perfect health,” Retrosi replies. “We have to wait for him to regain consciousness to assess his mental state.”

“How long will that take?” asks Bucky.

“Difficult to say,” says Retrosi. “We stopped administering the barbiturates a few hours ago, and his body metabolizes at an incredible rate, so it should be any time now. We don’t want to overwhelm him, so I think only one of you should be in there to start with. I’ll let you decide among yourselves.”

She disappears into Steve’s room, leaving a slightly perplexed group behind her.

“Well obviously you shouldn’t be there,” Howard tells Bucky.

“Why not?” Bucky demands.

“Because the last time Rogers was conscious, everyone thought you were dead,” says Howard. “That’s gonna be one hell of a shock.”

“I hadn’t thought of that, but Howard’s right,” says Peggy. “Probably best to ease him into it.”

“Probably best to ease him into most of it,” says Howard, glancing between Bucky and Peggy significantly.

“I should be in there,” says Peggy decisively, giving Howard a quelling look.

“Of course,” Bucky agrees at once. Even if it could be him, it should be her.

“I’m the one who revived him!” Howard protests.

“And we’re all very grateful,” says Peggy. “But you’re the last person to ease anyone into anything.”

“Fair,” Howard concedes grumpily.

“As you so tactfully pointed out, the more significant changes of the past decade ought to be conveyed gently, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t blather about our family situation until we’ve had a chance to explain it fully,” Peggy adds.

Howard rolls his eyes.

“What do you think I’m gonna do, Pegs, say, ‘Welcome back, Barnes knocked up Peggy right after you went under’?”

Bucky stiffens at this crude but not inaccurate presentation of his and Peggy’s false history. Telling Steve the truth will be horrible, but him hearing the widely-accepted lie first will be much worse, even if it comes from a more sensitive source than Howard.

“That’s exactly what we’re afraid you’re gonna do,” he says.

“I believe your delicate phrasing just now proves my point,” adds Peggy.

“I have _some_ self-control, you know,” says Howard.

“Wonderful,” says Peggy briskly before Bucky can contend that Howard has never demonstrated any evidence of this. “Now is the perfect time to exercise it.” She kisses Bucky’s cheek. “I’ll let you in as soon as I can,” she murmurs, squeezing his hand.

Bucky and Howard take seats on an uncomfortable wooden bench across from the door. After a few minutes, Howard pulls out his notebook, but instead of writing anything he just taps his pencil nervously against a blank page. It hadn’t occurred to Bucky when they left the house that he might need to bring something to do. He looks around the room, but since it’s not a real hospital, it’s unsurprisingly devoid of newspapers and magazines. He wonders if he has time to run up to the street to buy one.

“This must be awkward for you,” says Howard abruptly.

Bucky snorts.

“That’s one word for it.”

“I’m sorry for being such a genius.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, but he appreciates the attempt at levity.

“This is all I’ve wanted for eleven years,” he says honestly, and Howard gives a low whistle.

“Be careful what you wish for, huh?”

Bucky huffs a humorless laugh.

“Something like that.”

“I’m sure he’ll understand,” says Howard.

“I know he will,” says Bucky. Steve would understand even if the lie they’ve maintained about Nate’s paternity were true. Doesn’t make it any less complicated.

“Peggy really does love—”

“Stark.” Bucky puts a hand on Howard’s arm. “I appreciate the thought, but don’t try to do the emotional thing, okay?”

“Thanks,” says Howard, looking relieved. “I wish Jarvis were here. I could use a martini.”

“It’s not even eight in the morning.”

“So?” says Howard. “He could pick up some bagels too.”

Alcohol sounds far more appealing than food right now, but Bucky’s not about to admit that to Howard.

“Do you have a newspaper or something?” he asks instead.

“No,” says Howard. “Another thing Jarvis could get for us.”

“You know you could just do things yourself.”

“I didn’t hire a butler to have to do things myself,” Howard counters. “Why don’t you go get a newspaper, if you value independence so much?”

Bucky glances at the door across from them.

“I’m sure you’ve got time,” says Howard. “Even if he wakes up while you’re gone, it’s not like he’s gonna walk—”

The door bursts open; Bucky reflexively leaps to his feet. For a moment Steve stands framed in the doorway, as superhuman as his memorial, and — impossibly — even more beautiful than Bucky remembers. Then he takes an uncertain step forward.

“Bucky?” he breathes, looking bewildered and hopeful and so goddamn vulnerable.

Bucky just stares at him, frozen: he can’t speak, he can’t breathe, Steve is right here in front of him, he’s talking, he’s _alive_ , and Bucky _can’t breathe_ —

Steve reaches out and tentatively places his hands on Bucky’s shoulders. He gasps shakily when they make contact and squeezes, like he expects Bucky to dissolve in his hands.

“You’re—” he breaks off, his right hand convulsing around Bucky’s left shoulder. “What happened to your arm?”

“Nothing,” Bucky whispers; he can’t tear his eyes from Steve’s face, can’t stop drinking him in. “It doesn’t matter.”

Steve yanks Bucky’s sleeve up, flinching a little when it reveals the cybernetic prosthetic.

“What happened to your arm?” he demands again, louder.

“It doesn’t matter,” Bucky repeats. “Steve—”

Steve practically collapses against him. Bucky’s arms — flesh and metal — come up to clasp him at once.

“I thought you were dead,” Steve mumbles into his shoulder. He’s clinging to Bucky so tightly it would be painful if Bucky weren’t so far past giving a damn.

“Yeah,” says Bucky with a weak laugh. “I kind of thought the same thing about you.”

Steve finally releases him and takes a step back. When Bucky looks up, he sees Peggy behind Steve, smiling softly, and Retrosi in the doorway wearing a slight frown, two nurses hovering anxiously behind her.

“What happened to your arm?” Steve asks again.

“I fell,” says Bucky. “It, uh, wasn’t… salvageable. Stark made me a new one. It doesn’t matter.”

“It’s actually a pretty incredible advance in medical technology,” says Howard from somewhere to his right. “We got an award for—”

“Not now, Stark,” says Bucky, his eyes never leaving Steve’s face.

“Stark?” says Steve, momentarily distracted as he seems to notice Howard for the first time. “Howard, hi.”

“Hey, pal,” says Howard, “it’s been awhile,” but Steve has already returned his attention to Bucky.

“You fell,” he says, frowning a little. “From the train, you mean.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Bucky insists. “It was a long time ago.”

“Yeah, Peggy said I’d—” Steve stops abruptly, his frown deepening; he looks around at Peggy, then slowly turns back to Bucky. “How long have I been out?”

Over Steve’s shoulder, Bucky meets Peggy’s apprehensive gaze.

“Look, Steve—”

“How long have I been out, Buck?”

“Captain Rogers,” says Retrosi, stepping forward, “you’ve been through a huge ordeal—”

“How long?” Steve demands.

“Eleven years,” says Bucky softly.

Steve looks stricken.

“Eleven—” He turns toward Peggy again, looking lost. “But we— we were just— _years_?”

“I know it’s a shock,” says Peggy gently, reaching for his hand. “We’ll explain everything. It’ll be all right.”

“Captain Rogers, if you could just come back in here, we have some tests we’d like to administer,” says Retrosi.

“Yeah,” says Steve hollowly. “Yeah, of course.”

He lets Peggy lead him back through the door, which one of the nurses closes behind him with a soft click, leaving Bucky and Howard alone in the hallway again.

“Well I guess we’ve assessed his mental state,” says Howard. “I told you it would work. It’s like nothing even happened to him.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, because Howard is right: nothing did happen to Steve after he crashed.

The problem is how much happened to everyone else.

\-----

Eventually a nurse emerges to more or less kick out Bucky and Howard so Steve can “adjust without becoming overwhelmed”. Howard immediately goes off to his labs to examine the Hydra tech recovered from the _Valkyrie_ , while Bucky reluctantly returns to the mansion and spends the rest of the morning and early afternoon fielding phone calls from various idiots in DC that Rose keeps directing to him since Peggy is unreachable (the one advantage of which is that it mostly succeeds in distracting him from the situation with Steve).

Peggy finally comes back around three, alone.

“I told him,” she says, once she’s ensured the library doors are securely closed. “About us. About Nate.”

Bucky pretends to be interested in placing a pen in exactly the right position on the desk as he asks in the most casual voice he can muster, “How’d he take it?”

“He understands.”

Bucky looks over at her.

“That’s not what I asked.”

Peggy sighs and comes around the desk to stand beside him.

“As far as he remembers, five days ago he watched you die. Two days ago he and I…. Now you and I have a daughter together, and he has a ten-year-old son. It’s a lot to take in.”

Bucky nods.

“He’s not angry with you.”

“I’m sure,” says Bucky sincerely. For all his reckless heroism, Steve is ultimately a pragmatist. The baby needed to be protected, and Bucky was the obvious choice for protector. Time passed, emotions developed, the lines between truth and fiction blurred. Everyone did the right thing based on the information they had at the time, and the unintended consequences are all perfectly understandable — even desirable, if it weren’t for the unexpected wrinkle of Steve’s resurrection.

“He’s grateful,” Peggy insists.

“That sounds like him,” Bucky agrees flatly. It’d be easier to feel justified, less guilty, if Steve weren’t so goddamn noble. He can’t defend himself against an attack that never comes.

“I told him I’d send you to pick him up this evening,” says Peggy. “Dr. Retrosi wants to keep him overnight, but—”

“That’s not happening unless she sedates him and straps him down,” says Bucky. It’s comforting that in this way, at least, nothing has changed.

“Mm,” Peggy agrees. “They compromised with a few more tests. He should be ready in a couple hours.”

“You’re sending me alone?” asks Bucky warily.

“I think it will be good for the two of you to have some time together,” says Peggy. She places her hand over his where it rests on the desk. “It’s going to be difficult, but we’ll adjust. This is a good thing.”

“It’s all I’ve wanted,” says Bucky, echoing his earlier admission to Howard. “I just didn’t think it through.”

Peggy nods.

“None of us did,” she says softly. “None of us thought we’d have to.”

\-----

Steve is sitting up in bed eating a bowl of bright green jello when Bucky gets to his room that evening. He smiles when he sees Bucky standing in the doorway.

“Looks like you finally got me in a hospital.”

“This isn’t a hospital,” says Bucky, only barely smiling back.

“Right,” says Steve.

“How are you?” Bucky asks, stepping far enough into the room to shut the door, but not moving any closer to Steve.

“Tired of being treated like an invalid,” says Steve. He sets his half-finished jello on the bedside table. “You?”

“Look, Steve, Peggy—”

“She told me,” Steve interrupts. “About the two of you. She showed me pictures of the kids. They’re beautiful, Buck. I’m happy for you.”

“I didn’t plan it,” says Bucky.

Steve looks taken aback.

“I know you didn’t,” he says. “She explained that too. What you did for her and our son. Nathaniel?”

“Nate,” Bucky corrects, irritated. It’s not like it’s hard to remember.

“Right, Nate,” says Steve. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t do it for you,” Bucky snaps, and has no idea why because it’s a lie, an utter lie. It’s the only reason he did it … at least at first.

“Oh.” Steve looks surprised, and Bucky is suddenly furious. “Of course, I didn’t mean—”

“He’s ten,” says Bucky. “He loves to draw, and he hates fractions, and he’d eat cheeseburgers for every meal if we let him, and he takes care of his sister, and he won’t shut up about wanting a dog, and he plays the piano, and he’s learning to surf, which terrifies me, and he makes a point of befriending every kid who doesn’t fit in, and he’s _just like you_ , and—”

_And he was mine first. He was mine first, just like you were mine first, and you’re not going to take him away from me the way you let those bastards take you. He’s mine! He’s been mine since he took his first breath, and **you can’t have him!**_

He’s hyperventilating. His arm is roaring. Steve is shouting for a nurse.

“I’m fine,” Bucky chokes out. “I’m fine.”

He collapses in the chair next to Steve’s bed, forcing himself to regulate his breathing. A nurse finally rushes in but Bucky waves her away.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, his face burning with shame. Steve didn’t deserve that.

Steve doesn’t deserve a lot of things.

“You love him a lot.” Steve’s expression is unreadable.

“He’s my son,” says Bucky simply.

“Yeah,” says Steve. “Peggy told me that too. I didn’t really get it until now though.” He reaches out and grasps Bucky’s hand. “I didn’t know,” he says softly. “I didn’t know when I crashed. Maybe if I had I would have tried harder, I don’t know.”

“Known about what?” Bucky asks. “Nate? Or me?”

“Both, I guess,” says Steve.

Bucky pulls his hand away. Hurt flashes across Steve’s face. He picks a little at the corner of his blanket.

“Tell me about your daughter,” he says finally. “Please?”

“Michelle’s five,” says Bucky, more calmly this time, “and she has every one of us wrapped around her little finger. Not that we mind. We put her in ballet classes a few months ago, but she’s more interested in getting boxing lessons from the Jarvises.”

“Must take after her mom,” says Steve.

“Yeah, she does,” says Bucky, smiling a little despite himself. “She doesn’t take shit from anybody, which might be what I love most about her. And she’s never seen a tree she didn’t try to climb. Nate’s great about that: he’s always right below her ready to catch her if she falls.”

“He learned that from you,” says Steve softly.

Bucky looks up sharply. Steve is smiling a little sadly.

“It wasn’t your fault,” says Bucky.

“No?”

“I’ve blamed you for so many things since they found me,” Bucky admits. “That’s never been one of them.”

Steve frowns a little, staring at the corner of his blanket he’s slowly balling up in his fist.

“I hear you’re a Californian now,” he says.

“Yeah,” says Bucky, deciding not to push it. “Staying in New York just… wasn’t an option, after.”

Steve nods slowly.

“What’d you blame me for?” he says, so quietly Bucky almost misses it.

Except, of course, it’s impossible to miss such a loaded question.

He shrugs.

“Dying, mostly. All the decisions that led up to it — enlisting, volunteering for the serum, picking up the shield — and all the consequences of it — me getting stuck with Peggy and a baby and Stark — but it was the dying I really couldn’t forgive you for.”

“I didn’t know,” Steve says again, but he doesn’t reach for Bucky this time.

“Yeah, I know,” says Bucky. “I’ve always known it was irrational.” He smiles wryly. “Didn’t help.”

Steve releases the corner of his blanket and immediately starts to ball it up again.

“Anyway, turnabout’s fair play,” Bucky adds. “Plenty you can blame me for, now.”

Steve looks up at him.

“I don’t blame you,” he says. “I told you, I appreciate it. Deciding to keep that secret can’t have been easy.”

“It wasn’t at first,” admits Bucky. “Now… like I said, he’s my son.”

Steve nods.

“I’m glad. And I don’t— I don’t want to usurp—”

“We’re not telling him,” Bucky cuts in harshly. “Peggy explained that, didn’t she?”

“Yeah,” says Steve. “Well, she said we’d discuss—”

“You being alive doesn’t change anything,” says Bucky. “We still need to protect him. A secret that huge is way too much to put on a ten-year-old.”

“I get it, Buck,” says Steve quietly. “I’m not trying to take your place. I just want to meet him.”

And that’s what Bucky wants too — what he’s always wanted. It’s killed him all these years that Nate would never know Steve. But now he can…

“Of course,” he says. “Of course you should. I want you to.” _I want to want you to._

“Your daughter too,” says Steve. “Michelle.”

“Okay,” says Bucky. He forces himself to grin and claps Steve on the shoulder. “Let’s get out of here, man. Get you some real food and a real bed. We’ll go home tomorrow if the doc clears you for air travel.”

“She will,” says Steve firmly, and for just a second the damage of the past thirteen years fades away and Steve’s just that stubborn as hell Brooklyn punk who was once Bucky’s whole world.

\-----

Bucky can’t fall asleep that night, which is why he hears the door of Steve’s guest bedroom open sometime after midnight, followed by soft footsteps in the hallway. He waits a few minutes before getting up and following him.

He finds Steve standing at the kitchen counter thumbing through the evening paper.

“Can’t sleep?”

Steve startles almost imperceptibly, but relaxes when he glances up and sees Bucky.

“I’ve slept enough,” he says shortly.

“Nightmares?” Bucky guesses.

Steve gives a curt nod.

“I get that,” says Bucky. “It’s hard at first to not relive it. Dying. That moment before the impact...”

Steve shudders but says, “That’s not my nightmare.”

“It’s not?” Bucky is surprised. That’s all he dreamed about, the first year after. Well, that and—

“I close my eyes and I just see you,” Steve whispers, “falling out of my reach.”

Bucky’s breath catches.

“I told you that wasn’t your fault.”

“I should have jumped after you.”

“No you shouldn’t have,” says Bucky firmly.

“I could have survived—”

“You don’t know that! And even if you did, the train was moving too fast. You wouldn’t have landed anywhere near me.”

“I should have gone back for you.”

“Steve—”

“I should have been able to save you.” The broken whisper is almost inaudible.

“But you couldn’t,” says Bucky softly. “Which means nobody could. It wasn’t your fault, Steve. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. It was just war.”

Steve shakes his head.

“Bucky—”

“Come on,” Bucky interrupts. “We’ll bunk together tonight. Just like old times.”

Steve’s frown deepens but he follows Bucky to the guest bedroom, and when Bucky pulls back the covers, Steve lies down beside him without a word.

It’s not really like old times — it’s a king-sized mattress, so they both fit comfortably without their shoulders even touching, let alone having to lie head-to-toe — but it’s soothing matching his breathing to Steve’s again, and he’s half-asleep within a minute.

As he starts to slide into unconsciousness Steve’s hand closes around his wrist, tight enough to bruise, tight enough to either pull him back from the abyss or go over with him.


	4. Part IV

Nate is still at school when Jarvis drops off Bucky, Peggy, and Steve in front of the main house on the LA compound the next afternoon, but Michelle bursts out of the front door to greet them enthusiastically.

“I’m really good at boxing now,” she tells Bucky as he lowers her to the ground after she gives him a huge, smacking kiss on the cheek. “Mr. Jarvis says I’ll be as good as you soon.”

“Really?” says Bucky. “And how long before you’re as good as Mom?”

Michelle gives him an exasperated look.

“Dad,” she says in the most remarkably condescending voice a five-year-old could possibly muster, “Mom is the best. It’s going to take _years_ before I can be that good.”

Behind Bucky, Steve lets out a loud, surprised laugh which draws Michelle’s attention.

“Are you Steve?” she demands, peering at him from around Bucky’s legs. “My dad and Uncle Howard were looking for you.”

“Yes,” says Steve. “They found me.”

“Are you a ghost?” Michelle asks suspiciously. “My brother says you’re dead.”

“Michelle!” Bucky and Peggy admonish in unison.

“That’s what Nate said!” Michelle defends.

Bucky looks quickly at Peggy.

“Nobody told them?”

“Surely we— well, there’s been so much going on…” says Peggy uncertainly. She turns to Michelle. “Darling, as you can see, Steve is very much alive and well.”

Michelle still looks dubious.

“Mrs. Jarvis said he was alive and coming to see us,” she says. “But Nate was pretty sure he was dead.”

“Well I looked dead and people got confused,” Steve offers.

“Oh, like _Snow White_ ,” says Michelle, nodding. “So was it Dad or Uncle Howard who kissed you awake? Probably Dad,” she decides before anyone can answer.

Bucky’s mouth falls open. Steve goes bright red. Peggy makes an odd choking sound as she mostly fails to hold back her laughter.

“Darling, why don’t you go see if Mrs. Jarvis needs any help preparing the guest room?” she somehow manages to gasp out.

“Fine.” Michelle sighs, clearly disappointed by the lack of details, but nonetheless turns to Steve and says in her most polite voice, “Welcome to our home.”

“Oh. Thank you,” says Steve.

Michelle nods, satisfied, and scampers back into the house.

“I’m truly sorry about that,” Peggy says to Steve, still laughing a little, as they ascend the front steps. “She’s very blunt.”

“She’s great,” says Steve.

“Mr. Barnes!” Maggie cries, emerging from the living room when they enter the house. “Did you get me something?”

“Of course I did, kiddo!” Bucky lies. In truth, in the aftermath of the _Valkyrie_ ’s discovery he completely forgot to pick up presents for the kids like he normally does. “But, uh, I had to leave it in New York. Mr. Stark promised to take care of it for me and bring it to you soon.”

Howard will be in New York for at least a few more weeks sorting through everything recovered from the wreckage. Bucky’s not about to trust him with an errand like this, but there are plenty of people on the _Anthony_ ’s crew who will be happy to help him out.

“Oh,” says Maggie, her enthusiasm visibly fading.

“Margaret, demanding presents is quite rude,” Ana scolds as she comes down the stairs with Michelle in her wake. “Hello, Ms. Carter, Mr. Barnes.”

“Ana, thank you for everything, as always,” says Peggy as they kiss each other on the cheek.

“It’s always a pleasure, Ms. Carter,” Ana assures her. “Mr. Barnes, welcome home,” she adds before turning to Steve, smiling. “And you must be Captain Rogers.”

“Please, call me Steve, ma’am,” says Steve, brushing at his hair in an odd and ineffective way that drives the breath from Bucky with the force of its familiarity.

 _Still can’t talk to women worth a damn,_ he thinks and has the strange desire to both laugh and cry at once.

“She won’t,” he says to Steve instead. “We’ve shared a household for over a decade and she still insists on calling me Mr. Barnes. Isn’t that right, Ana?”

“That’s because I was raised properly, Mr. Barnes,” says Ana tartly. “I believe you were dragged.”

Steve and Peggy laugh.

“I can confirm it,” says Steve.

“Please!” says Bucky. “If anyone was dragged, it was _you_. By me. Kicking and screaming the whole way.”

Steve grins.

“Your memory’s going, old man.”

“Oh, _old man_ , really?” says Bucky. “That’s the way it’s gonna be?”

“That’s the way it’s gonna be.”

“You’re both children,” Peggy cuts in, but she’s smiling indulgently.

“Girls, why don’t you show Captain Rogers to his room?” Ana suggests. “The boys will be back from school soon and we’ll all have pudding.” She waits until Steve, Michelle, and Maggie have disappeared up the stairs before turning to Peggy and Bucky and saying, “You should know when we told the children last night that Captain Rogers was alive and coming home with you, Nathaniel was convinced we’d misunderstood. I believe it caused some confusion among the other children.”

“Yes, we did have to persuade Michelle he isn’t a ghost,” says Peggy with a smile.

“I should have called and explained it to them,” says Bucky. “I’m sorry. It’s been a little chaotic.”

“There’s no need to apologize, Mr. Barnes,” says Ana. “No one could have predicted a miracle like this.”

“Howard would tell you it was simple science,” says Peggy.

“And his own genius,” Bucky adds, rolling his eyes, but with no bite.

“Maybe so,” says Ana. “Heaven knows Mr. Stark is not one of its ambassadors.”

Bucky laughs along with Peggy, but he thinks he could make the argument. After all these years Howard has, impossibly, repaid his debt in full. From now on Bucky owes him.

Peggy goes to check on Steve before retiring to the study to telephone HQ; Bucky settles in the living room to read through Morita’s daily reports from the Forge (the inherent dryness of which is counteracted by Morita’s penciled annotations in the margins, which mainly consist of disparaging remarks about the Navy and gossipy tidbits about the ongoing interpersonal drama among the cadets that Morita and Bucky eagerly follow like a soap opera every training cycle). He’s halfway through the second week when he hears several doors open and close on the other side of the house, signalling the boys’ return from school, so he carefully clips the report back together and goes to greet them.

“Dad!” Nate flies out of a side door and practically flings himself at Bucky when he’s halfway across the entrance hall.

“I missed you too, pal,” Bucky manages to laugh even as Nate tries to squeeze the breath out of him.

“Where’s Mom?” Nate asks when he finally pulls away. “Mr. Jarvis said—” he falls abruptly silent as his eyes land on something behind Bucky. “You’re Steve.”

Bucky, who had momentarily forgotten Steve’s presence, looks over his shoulder. Steve is standing halfway down the stairs, looking at them with an expression Bucky hasn’t seen him wear since Sarah was dying: a tender sort of heartbreak trying to mask itself as strength.

He takes a step back from Nate, suddenly self-conscious.

“Yeah,” says Steve, with a smile that does nothing to disguise the sadness in his eyes, resuming his descent. “And you must be Nate. Your parents have told me a lot about you.”

“They’ve told me a lot about you too,” says Nate. He steps around Bucky, placing himself between him and Steve, as Steve reaches the bottom of the stairs; Bucky has the irrational urge to pull him back. “Everyone thought you were dead.”

“I’ve been getting that a lot,” says Steve.

“My dad’s been looking for you for a long time. He really wanted to find you,” says Nate in a tone Bucky can’t quite read.

“I’m very lucky he was so persistent,” Steve acknowledges.

“Yeah,” says Nate in that same odd tone; and then, like Michelle earlier, his entire demeanor shifts and he sticks out his hand and says politely, “Welcome to our home.”

“Uh, thanks,” says Steve uncertainly, shaking the proffered hand once.

Nate turns back to Bucky.

“I’m gonna go say hi to Mom.”

“She’s in the study,” says Bucky. “And Mrs. Jarvis has pudding for you in the kitchen.”

“Thanks,” says Nate, and then impulsively throws his arms around Bucky again. “I’m really glad you’re back, Dad.”

“Thanks, pal,” says Bucky, patting his head and avoiding Steve’s eyes. “Me too.”

“Hey,” says Steve once Nate is gone, “not that I don’t appreciate it, but why do I keep getting welcomed to your home?”

“What?” says Bucky, finally looking at him and mercifully finding he’s successfully arranged his face into an expression of amused confusion. “Oh, that. It’s just the kids’ hospitality training kicking in. We host military and government officials here sometimes.”

“So I’m an official?”

“You are Captain America,” says Bucky, mostly managing to keep his tone light.

“Am I?” says Steve, in a much more serious voice. “Still?”

“I guess that’s up to you,” says Bucky. “No one else wanted to put on that godawful uniform, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“You love that uniform,” says Steve, his smile turning genuine.

“Keep telling yourself that, man,” says Bucky, trying to inject enough humor into the words to disguise the truth behind them. “You want to see the rest of the house?”

“Please,” says Steve. “It took me ten minutes just to find the stairs again.”

“Yeah, it’s a lot,” says Bucky. “Stark designed it. You’ll get used to it.”

“Hm.” Steve doesn’t look convinced.

“Right,” says Bucky. “Well first of all —” he grins — “welcome to our home…”

\-----

When Bucky comes back to his room late that night after checking on the kids one last time, he notices Steve’s light is still on. He hesitates… but what’s the point of a second chance if he doesn’t actually take it? He passes his own room and raps on Steve’s door, opening it once Steve calls out an invitation to enter.

Steve is sitting up in bed, a large stack of _Life_ magazines on the table beside him.

“Doing some catching up,” he says, waving an issue with MacArthur on the cover.

“Need some company?” Bucky asks.

“Thanks, Buck, but I’m fine,” says Steve, avoiding his eyes. “I’m sure, uh, Peggy—”

“The house is huge and Peggy’s schedule is unpredictable. It’s never made sense to change the setup we’ve had since we first moved here,” says Bucky. “We only share a room when we’re out of town,” he clarifies, when Steve just looks blank.

“Oh,” says Steve. “Well you still don’t—”

“Steve, you thought I was dead for four days,” Bucky says quietly. “I thought you were dead for eleven years. It’s possible I’m not being entirely selfless here, okay?”

“Yeah,” says Steve, his voice and eyes going soft; he pulls back the covers beside him in a silent invitation. “Okay.”

Bucky climbs in and lies down. Steve sets the MacArthur issue on top of the stack and reaches for the light.

“You can keep reading,” says Bucky. “The light won’t bother me.”

“No, I wanted to go to bed an hour ago,” says Steve. “I just…”

“Didn’t want to close your eyes,” Bucky finishes for him.

Steve nods once before casting them into darkness.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” Bucky says to the ceiling as Steve settles down beside him.

“What about earlier?” In the dark it’s impossible to tell if Steve’s confusion is genuine.

“When Nate got home. I could see it bothered you,” Bucky says. “Watching your kid call another man ‘Dad’.”

For a moment there’s no sound but their breathing and the low hum of Bucky’s arm.

“It wasn’t that,” Steve says finally. “It wasn’t about him, specifically. Not entirely. It just hit me, watching the two of you, how much I’ve missed. Not just of his life, but of yours. All of yours.”

Bucky reaches out beneath the blanket and silently takes Steve’s hand.

“You don’t have to miss any more,” he murmurs.

Steve gives a noncommittal hum but his hand tightens around Bucky’s.

“You’re wrong, by the way,” Steve whispers a few minutes later. “It didn’t bother me seeing him call you ‘Dad’. There’s no man I’d trust with my kid more.”

“Steve—”

“Including myself.”

 _Since when do you give me so much credit? Since when do you give yourself so little?_ Bucky wants to say, but the words stick in his throat. He lies awake long after Steve’s breathing has become regular and his hand has gone slack in Bucky’s grasp.

\-----

The rest of the week is more or less relaxing. Peggy goes to HQ every morning while Bucky, who still has a week left of his standard six weeks’ leave, stays home with Steve. Bucky catches up on paperwork while Steve works his way through an archive of magazines and newspapers, although they’re forced to take breaks every twenty minutes or so to entertain Michelle and Maggie when they wander into the library (not that either of them mind). When Peggy and the boys get home in the afternoon, they all go out to rove the grounds.

Once they move past the initial awkwardness, Steve is a hit with the kids. They beg him to recount their favorite Captain America stories, and Steve is kind enough to pretend that most of them weren’t simply invented by radio dramas and comics — although Bucky notices that in Steve’s versions of both his fictional and factual adventures, the true heroes always end up being Agent Carter and Sergeant Barnes.

“I had no idea you were so cool, Mr. Barnes,” George tells him earnestly as they make their way back to the house for dinner one night. “No one thinks you’re that great in the comics.”

“Thanks, kid,” says Bucky, ignoring Steve and Peggy snickering behind him. “I guess I should thank you for making me seem so heroic,” he adds to Steve when the kids run on ahead.

The teasing look in Steve’s eyes vanishes.

“I just tell it like I remember it.”

In the evenings they introduce Steve to the wonder of modern television programming, which fascinates and perplexes him in equal measure. Nate and Michelle delight in catching him up on the past decade’s popular media, while Bucky and Peggy answer his numerous questions about current political and global events.

And if sometimes Peggy and Steve disappear concurrently for several minutes, or end up murmuring together in some corner of a room a little too long, Bucky ignores any stab of jealousy and reminds himself that he isn’t the only one who lost over a decade with someone he loves (and besides, he hardly has a leg to stand on when he and Steve are still sharing a bed).

On Friday Bucky makes good on his promise to take Nate to Disneyland, and it’s so wonderfully normal that for most of the day he forgets to wonder or worry about what Steve and Peggy might be doing without him. In fact, Steve doesn’t even come up until well into the afternoon.

“Hey, Dad,” Nate says as they sit on the curb of Main Street eating ice cream, “is Steve gonna live with us from now on?”

Bucky almost drops his cone. It’s something he’s been wondering himself but is far too afraid to investigate. His instinct is to firmly say, _Yes, of course he is, he’s not going to leave me again,_ but he knows that’s probably deluded thinking.

“I don’t know, pal,” he says honestly. “He was asleep for a long time. He might not want to stay in one place. He might want to go explore what he missed.” _He might not want a front-row seat to someone else raising his kid with his girl._

“But he could,” says Nate. “If he wants to, I mean.”

“Yeah, of course he can live with us if that’s what he wants,” says Bucky cautiously. “Is that okay?”

He hasn’t really been able to get a read on how Nate feels about Steve. Michelle is clearly enamored, but Nate has been uncharacteristically aloof, even when listening to one of Steve’s war stories as raptly as any of the other kids. It’s simultaneously upsetting and — in the darkest part of himself Bucky hates — comforting.

Nate nods.

“Course,” he says. “Steve’s cool.”

“Cool,” Bucky echoes, trying to stamp out the flicker of jealousy in his chest.

“Not as cool as you, obviously,” Nate adds, knocking their knees together. “No one’s as cool as you, Dad.”

Bucky grins.

“Flattery will not buy you another day out of school, pal.”

“It’s not flattery if it’s true,” says Nate with an affected innocence that has never fooled Bucky because of the countless times he saw it on Steve growing up, but also works on him for the same reason.

“It _might_ buy you another ice cream,” he concedes, “ _if_ you don’t tell Mom or Mrs. Jarvis we didn’t have a real dinner.”

“Scout’s honor,” says Nate. “You really are the coolest!”

“Yeah, yeah,” says Bucky, ruffling his hair. “Eat your ice cream, pal.”

\-----

“Nate said something today,” says Steve as they get ready for bed the next night.

“Just one thing?” Bucky jokes, but Steve doesn’t laugh.

“Buck, I’m trying to tell you something.”

“Okay,” says Bucky, tamping down on a tiny flare of panic as he mentally runs through the day trying to remember when Steve and Nate were both out of his presence and for how long. “What did he say?”

“He said you’re happy,” says Steve softly, his voice breaking slightly on the last word.

“I’m—” Bucky frowns. “Sorry, it seemed like it was going to be something bad.”

Steve nods, like that’s exactly what it was.

“He said you’re happy _now_ ,” he elaborates, and Bucky’s breath catches. “He said he’s never seen you happy like this before. He said you’ve always been sad, underneath. Before I— before you found me.”

“I didn’t think he knew,” Bucky whispers. He feels a little guilty. He should have been better at hiding it, stronger for his son. He thought he had been.

“So it’s true?” Steve looks devastated, and Bucky shouldn’t add to that, doesn’t want to, but Steve is asking for the truth, and after so many lost years, Bucky is tired of lying.

“You were dead, Steve,” he says. “And yeah, I love my kids. I even learned to love my wife. But they couldn’t replace you. Nothing could replace you.”

Steve pulls him into a fierce embrace.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into Bucky’s shoulder.

“You didn’t know,” says Bucky reflexively.

“I hate the thought of you being unhappy because of something I did.” Steve’s voice is muffled in Bucky’s pajama shirt. “Because of a choice I made.”

 _You just described my entire life,_ Bucky thinks, but that’s needlessly cruel and Steve doesn’t deserve it. So he just lets his eyes fall closed, relishing the feel of Steve in his arms again, even if one of those arms is artificial now and this new Steve will never feel quite right.

“I just really missed you,” he says finally.

“I can’t even imagine,” Steve murmurs; “I couldn’t even take four days without you,” and Bucky clings to him a little tighter. “He asked me not to leave again.” Steve pulls away a few inches so he can meet Bucky’s eyes but seems unwilling to fully let go. “He wanted me to promise. Not for him; for you.”

Bucky’s heart clenches. That kid. That sweet, selfless kid.

 _His_ kid.

“Did you?”

“Instantly,” Steve breathes, and then he covers Bucky’s mouth with his own.

It’s exactly and nothing like he’d imagined, somehow both gentler and far more desperate. Steve nips at his bottom lip, runs his tongue over it in a soft apology, then nips again before pushing into his mouth, swallowing his whimper; one big hand comes up to cradle his head; Steve’s chin is rough with stubble that scrapes against his own, nothing like Peggy’s smooth—

He shoves Steve away so hard they both stumble a little.

“We can’t! I’m _married_ —” his voice breaks — “to your—” he doesn’t know how to say it, what to label it, but he means, _Peggy. This should be Peggy. If anyone is going to be doing this with you, it should be Peggy, not me. She’s the one who got the shitty deal, the one who stayed strong, the one who deserves_ —

“You’re right,” gasps Steve; he takes another step back, breathing hard. “Of course you’re right, I’m sorry, that was inappropriate. I overstepped.”

“No, you—” Bucky’s arm is buzzing in his ears. “Of course I want— we _can’t_ —”

And for the first time in his life, he deliberately flees Steve’s presence.

\-----

It takes him a while to absorb it.

Steve had kissed him.

 _Steve_ had kissed him.

 _Steve_ had kissed _him._

Then he’s furious.

Steve had let him march off to war, had fallen in love with somebody else, had dragged him back onto the battlefield, had fucking _died_ , and now, eleven years later, after Bucky’s gotten himself a wife and kids and an actual goddamned life, _now_ he decides to reciprocate?

And all because, what, he can’t have who he really wants?

It’s obvious to anyone with eyes that Steve is still in love with Peggy. It’s abundantly, brutally clear — and why wouldn’t he be? She was his girl only a week ago, from his perspective.

But Peggy is stronger than Bucky, steadier, less easily swayed when it comes to Steve. Bucky’s sure the endless parade of one-off dates all those years ago never actually disguised his true feelings or kept it from being anything but obvious that he was and always would be Steve’s, and he’s made even less of an effort to conceal his emotions since Steve returned. Peggy is who Steve wants, but Bucky is who he can have, even now, and apparently he’s finally ready to cash in on that. It seems loneliness can make even the most altruistic person selfish.

Only Steve _can’t_ have Bucky. Bucky can’t let him. He has to be as strong as Peggy now, has to smother a longing that’s been part of him since before he can remember. A lifetime of yearning, a decade of grief, and at last his deepest desire is right at his fingertips. He can go right now and take it — all it’ll cost him is his family, his home, his entire _life_.

His existence is just one cosmic joke in shitty timing. It’s not fair.

But neither is what he and Steve just did to Peggy.

God, _Peggy_. She doesn’t deserve any of this shit.

He has to tell her. That’s not even a question. He just hopes she’ll forgive him.

He hopes they both will.

\-----

He gets up early the next morning but Steve is already gone.

“I’m sure he’s just gone for a run,” says Peggy, when Bucky pokes his head in her room to anxiously inquire if she’s seen him. “I wouldn’t worry.”

“Yeah,” says Bucky slowly. “Um, actually, I need to talk to you.” He swallows. “About Steve.”

Peggy sighs, but sits up and pats the covers beside her. Bucky sits tentatively half on the edge of the bed, facing her. He takes a breath, steeling himself.

“I know,” says Peggy before he can speak, and Bucky’s heart stops for a moment, but then she continues, “You’ve done a good job of hiding it, but I can tell his return has been hard on you.”

“On both of us,” says Bucky, because it’s true and he owes her that much. “All of us.”

“It’ll get better,” says Peggy. “We’ll adjust.”

“Yeah,” says Bucky, “but Pegs, last night, we— Steve and I, we— he was telling me something Nate said and then we sort of— well, we kissed, but look, I stopped it, I don’t want to keep secrets from you and we both know he doesn’t really—”

Peggy falls back on her pillows with a frustrated groan.

“You’re both idiots!” she snaps.

“Yeah,” says Bucky miserably. “But it won’t happen again, I swear, I know you two—”

“ _Idiots!_ ” Peggy repeats, sitting up again. “You’re in love with each other. Steve is in love with you, don’t you see that?”

Bucky gapes at her.

“Steve is… in love with _you_ ,” he says slowly.

“Yes, of course he is,” says Peggy impatiently.

“But—”

“He can love us both, you know,” she says. “Just like we can love him and each other. I was rather hoping you two would figure this out on your own, but I see that was being overly optimistic.”

“What are you saying?” says Bucky blankly.

“I’m saying there’s no reason to choose,” she says. “No reason for one of us to be unhappy, especially since that would make the other two unhappy.”

Bucky just stares at her. She can’t possibly be proposing what it sounds like she’s proposing.

“I don’t understand.”

“You two can’t be happy without each other,” says Peggy. “I’ve spent enough time with each of you thinking the other was dead to see that. Now I love both of you, and I believe I’m right in thinking you both love me.”

“Of course we do,” says Bucky.

“Well, quite selfishly, I don’t want to be a single mother,” says Peggy.

“I would never leave you,” says Bucky at once. “Unless that’s what you wanted,” he adds quickly. “So you could be with—”

“I _want_ both of you, don’t you understand?” says Peggy. “We can all be together. There’s no reason at all to choose.”

“You’d… be okay with that?”

“What’s your solution?” Peggy demands. “We all mope around here pining forever? Steve runs away, leaving us both heartbroken? After everything, why shouldn’t we take the option that allows us all to be happy?”

“But it’s not that simple,” Bucky protests.

Peggy sighs and places a hand on his cheek, forcing him to look at her.

“My darling, of course it is,” she says. “Why shouldn’t it be?”

“What will we tell people?”

“Why should we tell them anything? What business is it of theirs?”

“There’ll be rumors.”

“There are already rumors about us and Howard,” says Peggy, waving this concern away. “Changing one player is hardly going to make a difference.”

“I guess that— wait, what? What rumors?”

“Never mind,” says Peggy, as if she hasn’t just imparted a horrific revelation. “My point is people will talk no matter what. So why let it interfere with our happiness?”

“But we’ll still have to tell the Jarvises and Howard. They’ll notice.”

“Your confidence in Howard’s powers of observation is heartwarming,” says Peggy dryly. “As for the Jarvises, they’re discreet, and I believe they’ll understand.”

“And the kids?”

“Yes, the children do make things a bit complicated,” Peggy admits. “But I don’t think they’ll have any objections to Steve joining our family. They’ve already accepted him living here, and I believe we can simply deal with any questions they might have as they arise.”

“You’ve already thought this through,” says Bucky slowly.

“Days ago,” says Peggy. “As I said, I was hoping you two would figure this out on your own.”

“We don’t deserve you,” says Bucky, awed.

“Not one bit,” says Peggy, leaning forward and giving him a quick kiss. “But I suppose I’ll find a way to overlook it.”

\-----

Steve does return to the house in time for breakfast, but spends the entire day ensuring he and Bucky are never alone together and studiously avoiding Bucky’s eyes. Bucky, acting on Peggy’s orders, doesn’t push it, and even begs out of the afternoon walk around the grounds on the pretext of having to prepare for his return to work the next day.

Peggy is especially kind toward Steve all day, which Bucky thinks might be more tortuous for Steve than if she were chilly. By the time she announces Nate and Michelle need to go up to bed, Steve is no longer looking at anyone and speaking exclusively in monosyllables.

As Peggy and Bucky herd the kids toward the stairs, Michelle suddenly breaks away, runs back to Steve, and throws her arms around his legs.

“Goodnight, Steve,” she says into his knee. “I love you.”

Steve looks down at her, emotions flickering across his face too rapidly to read.

“I love you too, Michelle,” he says, his voice a little hoarse.

Michelle raises her face up, and he takes the cue and gives her a quick kiss on the forehead. Then she releases him and scampers after Nate.

After tucking the kids in, Bucky goes to his own room to change into his pajamas before he and Peggy go deal with the Steve situation. But as he starts unbuttoning his shirt, he looks up to find Steve standing just inside the door, watching him.

“Hey,” he says in the soft voice he uses to try to calm particularly terrified new cadets. “You okay?”

“I can’t do this,” says Steve tonelessly, still refusing to meet his eyes. “I’ll leave in the morning.”

“You will do no such thing!”

Steve whips around and takes a step backward, further into Bucky’s room. Peggy is in the doorway, arms folded, eyes dark.

“Running away? That doesn’t sound like the Steve Rogers I remember,” she says severely, advancing on him.

Steve takes another step back, but then seems to realize he’s moving closer to Bucky. He looks between them, clearly torn.

“You told her,” he says flatly to Bucky.

“Yeah, I learned a long time ago not to keep secrets from my wife,” says Bucky.

“Fortunately for you,” says Peggy; Bucky’s not sure which of them she’s talking to.

“I think you’ll be glad I did,” he tells Steve anyway.

“Peggy,” Steve says, and while he seems to be aiming for reasonable, he sounds more pleading, “I’m not running away. I’m just trying to atone. I’ve already caused you both so much pain. I couldn’t live with myself if I ruined what you have. What you’ve built.”

Peggy reaches up and strokes his cheek; he flinches a little but doesn’t move away.

“My darling,” she says softly, “don’t you know you’re the reason we built anything at all?”

She pulls his head down and kisses him. Bucky waits for the familiar flare of jealousy, but it doesn’t come. Instead he feels something like… wholeness.

Peggy pulls back after a moment and reaches toward Bucky. He takes her hand at once and she draws him closer and kisses him softly. Then she steps back and pushes Steve and Bucky toward each other.

“It’s all right,” she says, when Steve throws her a questioning look. “It’s what we all want.”

“We should talk about—” Steve starts, but Peggy places a finger on his lips.

“Later,” she murmurs. “We’ll figure it all out later.”

“She’s right,” says Bucky. He leans forward, nips a little at Steve’s lips, feels Steve’s hand fist in his undershirt. “We’ve talked enough.”

\-----

Michelle is ecstatic when they announce the next morning that Steve will be living with them permanently; Nate merely looks satisfied and gives Steve an approving nod, which Steve returns seriously.

Bucky doesn’t know what Peggy says to the Jarvises, if anything. Neither give any overt indication they’re aware of any change in the family dynamics, but they both go out of their way the next few weeks to give Bucky, Peggy, and Steve as many moments alone as possible, and occasionally Bucky catches Jarvis or Ana watching them with knowing smiles.

“Oh, you’re an artist, Captain Rogers,” says Ana when she walks in on him sketching in the library one evening. She looks over his shoulder at his sketch, then up at Bucky with a soft smile. “You’ve quite a talent for capturing what you love.”

Bucky smiles back, nodding slightly.

“Should I start designing a cottage for Rogers?” Howard asks Bucky when he gets back from New York. “There’s space.”

“No,” says Bucky. “He’s good with us.”

Howard gives him a look that’s a little too knowing.

“That’s what I thought.”

Bucky elects not to ask if he’s deduced the truth. Some mysteries are better left unsolved.

On the surface, nothing really changes at all. Peggy and Bucky return to work full time. Steve spends dozens of hours on the phone with various generals and politicians, patiently (and before long, not so patiently) explaining exactly why he has no intention of going to DC to support whatever cause they want to use him for. However, he does start going to SHIELD HQ with Peggy a few times a week, and with Bucky to the Forge once every week or two, but never more often because the presence of Captain America is too distracting to the cadets.

“I still can’t believe it,” Morita says to Bucky the first time, staring at Steve, who three cadets are currently interrogating about his exact technique with the shield. “When you first told me, I really thought you’d finally cracked, man.”

“Yeah, I could tell,” says Bucky. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“You were obsessed,” says Morita unapologetically. “That doesn’t usually end so happily.” He frowns a little, but only adds, “The other guys are gonna be so jealous I got to see him first.”

“We’ll have a reunion,” says Bucky, who visits each of the Commandos individually from time to time, but has spent the past ten years painstakingly avoiding seeing them all at once. “Nothing official. Just for old time’s sake.”

“Yeah,” says Morita, truly smiling now. “Sounds great, Barnes.”

At Bucky and Peggy’s suggestion, Steve looks after Nate and Michelle once the Jarvises leave for the summer.

“By myself?” he says apprehensively when they first propose it.

“They’re not nearly as scary as you think,” says Peggy. “They practically take care of themselves, really. Ana has them very well-trained.”

“Nate knows how to entertain and look after Michelle, so all you really have to do is make sure they don’t set the house on fire,” Bucky adds.

“Is that something they’re likely to do?” asks Steve, looking alarmed.

Bucky and Peggy laugh.

“No,” Bucky assures him. “All you have to do is play with them, give them lunch, and keep them out of Howard’s workshop.”

“We wouldn’t suggest it if we didn’t think you could handle it,” says Peggy.

“Can’t be any scarier than marching into Hydra with no backup and no plan,” Bucky adds, raising an eyebrow.

“That was way less daunting,” says Steve, laughing a little.

“It’ll give you a chance to really bond with the kids,” says Bucky, more seriously. “Which is what we all want, right?”

“It will also give you time to adjust,” says Peggy. “Michelle will start school in the fall, and Ana will be back to look after the children in the afternoons, so we can start fully integrating you into SHIELD then. And this will help integrate you into the family.”

Steve, to no one’s surprise but his own, picks up parenthood as easily as he picks up everything else. Peggy is so confident in his abilities she does something she hasn’t since before Michelle was born and leads a mission overseas while the Jarvises are away.

It happens to be during the most intense week of Forge training, and a few nights in, Bucky ends up caught at work until well after dinner. When he finally makes it home the house is dark, except for a faint glow coming from one end of the entrance hall. He follows it to the living room — and pauses, drinking in the sight before him.

The light is coming from the TV, silently displaying the off-air test card. Steve is taking up most of the couch, his legs stretched out in front of him, his head dropped against the back cushion, the kids nestled up to him on either side. Nate’s head is on his left shoulder; Michelle’s on his right knee. All three of them are fast asleep.

Bucky allows himself a few moments to just look at them. Then he tiptoes to the study and retrieves the camera.

It probably won’t turn out — the only light is from the television and he doesn’t dare use the flash — but it’s the closest he can come to stopping time.

\-----

“Well,” Peggy says after they tuck in the kids the night before the Jarvises get back, “I’m just going to say it.”

“Steve’s pretty good at the dad thing,” Bucky finishes.

“High praise,” says Steve dryly.

“No,” says Peggy. “I mean, yes, he’s wonderful,” she amends quickly, when Bucky and Steve both look at her in confusion. “But that wasn’t what I was going to say. Although knowing he’s already wonderful at fatherhood should make my revelation slightly less terrifying.”

Bucky gapes at her.

“No…” he breathes, not daring to hope. “Really?”

She beams.

“Really.”

“What?” says Steve, looking between them in bewilderment. “Really what?”

“She’s pregnant,” says Bucky.

“ _What?_ ” says Steve, as though Bucky has just announced Peggy is actually from the moon. “You’re…?” He starts to put his hand on her stomach, but jerks it back.

“Yes,” says Peggy, grasping his wrist and placing his hand on her abdomen. “Though you can’t feel anything yet.”

Steve looks awed.

“I didn’t think… I just assumed I’d missed that part.”

Bucky reaches for him.

“Steve…”

But when Steve turns to kiss him, he’s smiling.

“We’re having a baby, Buck,” he says against Bucky’s lips; then he turns and kisses Peggy. “We’re having a baby!”

\-----

Two babies, as it turns out. Which settles something Bucky’s been seriously considering since Peggy told them she’s pregnant.

“I think you two should get married.”

For a moment Peggy and Steve just stare at him. Then they both begin talking at once.

“I’ve already told—”

“Don’t be absurd—”

“—I don’t want to be—”

“—so dramatic—”

“—it doesn’t bother—”

“—we have the children to—”

“It’s actually because of the kids,” Bucky cuts across their protests, and Peggy and Steve fall mercifully silent, eyeing him warily.

“You’re Nate’s dad,” says Steve after a moment. “We all agreed you’re Nate’s dad. And you two have Michelle.”

“Exactly,” says Bucky. “ _Legally_ , I’m their father. I’m on the birth certificates, just like Peggy. Nothing will change that.”

“I don’t need a piece of paper—” Steve starts.

“Of course not,” says Bucky. “But the law does.”

“Ah,” says Peggy, and Bucky knows she’s put it together, but Steve still looks confused, so Bucky elaborates.

“If — god forbid — _if_ something happens to both Peggy and me,” he says, “then you won’t have any legal right to Nate and Michelle.”

Steve looks stunned. Finally he says in a strangled voice, “Nothing’s going to—”

“We get shot at for a living, Steve,” Bucky interrupts.

“Not to mention drive around LA every day,” Peggy adds, lips quirking slightly.

“Then you can put a provision in your will!” says Steve.

“Of course, and we will,” says Bucky. “But what if someone questions it? You’ll have an easier time making it stick if you’re already their step-father.”

“He’s right,” says Peggy, “damn him.”

Bucky laughs.

“Look, one of us has to marry you,” he says to Steve. “I’d be all for it if it made you two feel better, but obviously that’s not an option. So, you two have to get married.”

Steve still looks suspicious.

“This isn’t going to change anything?” he asks.

“It’ll give me peace of mind,” says Bucky. “But no, I’m not trying to change what the three of us have. This isn’t me trying to step nobly aside. You should know me better than that. I’m not that noble.”

“You’re exactly that noble,” grumbles Steve.

“Not when it comes to this,” says Bucky. “I just want to know our kids will be okay.”

“So do I,” says Peggy. “It’s a good plan. Frustrating, but good. We’ll wait until the babies are born, put Bucky on those certificates too, and then file for divorce.”

“It’s going to look really bad,” says Steve. “I come back, you have a couple kids, and then Peggy immediately divorces you to marry me?”

“I don’t give a damn what it looks like,” says Bucky. “The only thing that matters is my kids get to stay with their father if the worst happens.” He meets Steve’s eyes. “There’s no man I’d trust with them more.”

Steve grabs Bucky’s arm and kisses him very intensely.

“This isn’t going to change anything,” he says firmly when he pulls back, a declaration this time, not a question.

“It honestly won’t,” says Bucky. “We’ll all still be living together, we’ll all still be raising the kids together. And what it will change will be for the better. Now the kids can call you ‘Dad’ too and no one will question it because it’ll be true in a legal sense.”

Steve gapes at him.

“You want them to call me ‘Dad’? Nate and Michelle too?”

“Ultimately it’s up to them, but yeah, of course I do,” says Bucky. “They’re ours. They’re all ours. All of ours. Aren’t they?”

Steve just kisses him again, harder.

“When you two are finished,” says Peggy, “the mother of your children has some swollen feet that could use attention.”

“Ma’am, yes ma’am,” says Steve, all but shoving Bucky away.

“Wait a minute, didn’t you just promise to divorce me?” Bucky teases.

“Yes, and I’ll take the house and half your pension if you don’t butter me up for the next few months,” says Peggy with a smile.

“This is your future, man,” Bucky says to Steve. “Still time to back out.”

Steve kisses the top of Peggy’s foot.

“I’ll take my chances.”

\-----

Benjamin Howard and Bethany Ana Carter-Barnes are born February 5, 1957.

“Hey,” says Steve, beaming at Bucky as they cradle a baby each, “we made these.”

Bucky grins.

“I think Peggy did most of the work.”

“Damn straight,” Peggy murmurs without opening her eyes.

“Yeah,” says Steve reverently. “Who’d’ve thought two kids from Brooklyn would get this lucky, huh?”

Bucky looks from the slight smile playing around Peggy’s lips, to Steve gazing adoringly at Beth’s sleeping face, and then down at Ben, nestled contentedly in his own arms.

Thinks of a lifetime of bitter longing for something that seemed so impossible.

Of falling into an abyss and waking with nothing.

Of living eleven years with a wound all logic and experience said could never heal.

“Not me.”


	5. Epilogue

“Tomorrow’s the first day of spring,” Howard says as they wait to be called to take part in the family photos after the christening, “and we’re staying here.” He shrugs. “Feels weird.”

“I’d offer to go anyway if I didn’t have brand new babies,” says Bucky.

“Never stopped you before,” Howard points out.

“Yeah, well before I was looking for something.”

“And now you found it.”

“ _We_ found it,” Bucky corrects. “Thank you, by the way. For bringing him back to me.”

Howard shrugs again.

“I just wanted to beat Walt to the punch.”

Bucky shakes his head.

“One day, Stark, people are going to realize you’re not nearly as selfish as you want them to think you are.”

“Yeah, I’m a saint,” Howard mutters. “I just hope I don’t regret it.”

“Hey,” says Bucky, “if someone told me twelve years ago that one day I’d say this, I’d have thought they were crazy, but Stark, I think you just might be my best friend in the world. And it’s not because you gave my family a mansion.”

“What about Peggy and Steve?”

Bucky looks over at the two of them on the church steps: Steve is attempting to smooth down Michelle’s hair while Ana arranges Beth and Ben in Peggy’s and Nate’s respective arms.

“They’re something else.”

“Yeah,” Howard grunts.

“You know what?” says Bucky. “We’re still gonna take a trip together every spring after this one, okay? Just shorter than six weeks and maybe somewhere a little warmer than the Arctic.”

“You just want a free vacation,” says Howard, but he’s grinning now.

“Who doesn’t?” says Bucky. “But the company’s an incentive too.”

“I’m still not letting you win backgammon,” says Howard.

“I don’t need you to _let_ me—”

“What are you guys talking about?” Steve interrupts, appearing at Bucky’s right elbow.

“Our annual trip,” says Bucky.

“You’re not invited,” says Howard.

“... okay?” says Steve.

“We’ll get our own thing, Rogers, don’t worry,” Howard adds quickly.

“Thanks?”

“And I’m claiming anything royalty-related as my thing with Peggy.”

“I don’t think—” Steve starts.

“Let him have it,” says Bucky. “He’s friends with the Queen’s husband. Trust me, it’s better for everyone. You know you have to run that deal by Peggy, Stark,” he adds to Howard.

“Easy,” says Howard. “She loves having me there to distract Phil.”

“We’re ready for the fathers now,” Ana calls.

Bucky claps Howard on the shoulder.

“Duty calls.”

He and Steve join Peggy and the kids on the steps.

“If you could all move a bit to your left,” Jarvis calls out. “No, it’s very unbalanced. Captain Rogers, if you’d just—”

“Let me, let me, here,” says Ana impatiently, striding up to them, grabbing Peggy’s shoulders and maneuvering her into position, then taking hold of Steve’s and Bucky’s arms in turn and doing the same so they’re flanking Peggy, Bucky on her right and Steve on her left. “All right, Captain Rogers, you take him,” she says, lifting Ben out of Nate’s arms and handing him to Steve, “and Mr. Barnes, hold her” — she takes Beth from Peggy and puts her in Bucky’s arms — “and Nathaniel, stand here” — she places him in front, between Peggy and Bucky — “and Michelle” — she moves Michelle next to Nate, between Peggy and Steve — “there!” Ana takes a step back and admires her work. “Edwin, they’re ready.”

“Wonderful!” says Jarvis. He waits until she’s standing beside him before raising the camera. “All right,” he says, as Ana starts cooing at the babies so they’ll look toward the camera. “Beautiful family photo.”

Hoisting Beth into a more secure position, Bucky glances to his left: at Peggy, beaming, a hand each on Nate and Michelle’s shoulders; at Nate with one arm draped around Michelle, and Michelle with both of hers clasped around his waist; at Steve — Steve, alive and happy and impossibly, miraculously _here_ — raising one of Ben’s tiny hands in a wave.

“Everyone look here,” says Jarvis sharply, and Bucky’s eyes snap back to the camera lens, “and... smile!”

Bucky already is.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to the insanely talented [koreanrage](http://koreanrage.tumblr.com/) for beautifully illustrating this so perfectly it’s like she pulled the images directly out of my brain. Many thanks to my amazing sister for betaing this for me and listening to me whine about how hard writing is for the past eight months, even after she moved to a totally different continent. Many thanks to my mom for unwittingly assisting my historical research by answering all my random and totally contextless questions about what it was like to grow up in Southern California in the ’60s (which were not the ’50s, but close); she’s the reason that tumbleweed snowmen scene exists. Many thanks to my dog for being only mildly resentful when I was writing this instead of petting her. And many thanks to you for reading this and going on this journey with me.
> 
>  
> 
> _come yell at me on[tumblr](http://crackdkettle.tumblr.com/)_


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